


Splintered Illusions

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Pre-Developing Relationship, Skyfall AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after Bond returns from his watery grave in Istanbul, he hears that the once missing list of NATO agents has resurfaced in a quiet neighborhood in Paris, and leaves at once to rectify an error made three months before.</p><p>A week after hearing about the explosions at MI6 in London, Q, taking time off from his job at the British embassy in Paris, takes his latest commission--a list of names--back to the mercenary who commissioned the decryption.</p><p>Q knows he has hunters after him. The problem is that he doesn't know who all of them are.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It was always about seeing through the illusions we cast to protect ourselves.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bjobjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjobjo/gifts).



“We need to talk.”

“That sounds rather ominous,” Q said without looking up from his screen, watching as the numbers continued dialing back to zero. Shaking his head to get his black hair out of his eyes, he glanced back at his visitor, César Fournier, who leaned back on the sofa in Q’s tiny flat, dark eyes carefully watching Q. His glass of port remained untouched from when Q had poured it earlier after the two returned from dinner. “What do we need to talk about?” he asked finally, resting one elbow over the back of his chair to better see Fournier.

“It has come to my attention that I am not the only one for whom you work for in addition to your regular clerk job” Fournier said, arching an eyebrow as Q glanced back at his screen. “My secretary’s cousin lives here, she says that you help many of the residents here.”

“All perfectly legal, I promise,” Q replied as he turned back around, watching the file finish decoding itself before beginning the automatic download onto a memory stick that César had provided. “There’s no monetary incentive involved, I happen to like programming and there’s no challenge to filing and digitizing archival records.”

“And you only work for those who live here?” César asked carefully as Q typed in his own authorization code to complete the download.

Q shrugged with one shoulder. “Yes, I only work with those who live here without question. I background check everyone else,” he explained patiently, turning his chair enough to see both the laptop and Fournier at the same time. He frowned when he saw Fournier’s brow furrow slightly, and then asked, “Did something happen recently here in Paris?”

“No, in London. There was a terrorist attack two days ago, MI6 headquarters to be specific. I did a little digging into the investigation and found that it was a digitally based attack; someone, a professional hacker, had managed to get into the director’s computer networks and access the rest of the facility to create a bomb. Three dead so far with the number expected to grow,” he said, and Q felt his chest grow cold at the unspoken implication. Fournier tilted his head, and said, “I understand that there was bad blood involved with English intelligence agencies that prompted your arrival here?”

“That was three years ago, I’d almost forgotten that entirely,” Q said, leaning back in his chair, tensing when the implication of Fournier’s words caught up to him. “You think I had something to do with it.”

“I’m _wondering_ if you had something to do with it,” César clarified, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Where were you two days ago?”

“Assisting a family of stranded tourists on the behalf of my supervisor,” he said, nodding to his computer. “Several hours by train to the Côte d’Azur, trust me when I say I’m not in a rush to take that sort of trip again unless my life depended on it,” he added, never looking away. “If it’s any comfort, I do keep track of all my clients’ requests and the commission and completion dates,” he offered, starting to rise from his chair.

Fournier shook his head. “Don’t bother, I trust you.” He hesitated, and then asked, “What is it that your clients usually request?”

“Decryptions, sometimes programming assistance, bug fixes and system diagnostics. If I can fix it, then I fix it. If not, I refer them to someone who can,” Q said, as he ejected the memory stick and stood up just as Fournier did, and offered the memory stick. “Remember, please don’t name me in the trial tomorrow because I don’t want the judge to ask me where or how I acquired the incriminating data,” he said as Fournier took the stick.

“I did apologize for that last time, I couldn’t very well lie under oath now, could I?” Fournier said, tucking the memory stick away into a coat pocket.  “Do you want the check now, or shall I wire it to your account?”

“Wire it, please. That way I have it on hand in case of an emergency,” Q said, running his hands through his hair before massaging his temples. He paused when he noticed that while Fournier had slipped on his coat, he still stood in front of the door, waiting expectantly. “Was there something else?” Q asked, leaning on a hand on the computer table.

“One. You swear to me that you’re being careful?” Fournier said, frowning as he leaned against the doorframe. “Treason is a difficult charge to not only erase, but also financially and socially difficult to recover from, friends and family aside.”

“Well then, luckily I only have to worry about the latter if something were to happen,” Q said, quirking a half smile before he looked down at his hands. It had been years since he’d been intimate with anyone, much less had something resembling a date or social interaction that didn’t include any work. He couldn’t afford the luxury though, not when he toed the line more often than was considered safe.

Fournier was quiet, but Q didn’t need to see him to know that the other man was thinking the same thing. “Your family _will_ accuse me of enabling you,” he said after a moment with a sigh. “Especially since I couldn’t think of another, safer, hobby you could do instead of this.”

Q grinned at the attempted joke. “César, if it makes you feel better, I promise to be careful,” he said, straightening even as Fournier chuckled.

“Now where have I heard that before? Oh, that’s right, I think it might have been twenty or so minutes before my car was wrecked because the driver got a little too excited at the prospect of racing in the city streets,” Fournier said, arching an eyebrow even as Q grimaced, ducking his head so Fournier couldn’t see the smile. “Jokes aside, should you need a refuge, come to me and I can arrange for political asylum and diplomatic immunity with the French government from whomever may be hunting you down. You’ll need to be physically with me, so please, _please_ be careful. I can only protect you while you are here.”

Q nodded. “Understood,” he said, frowning after a moment of thought. “Did my mother put you up to that? She isn’t as terrifying as you’re making her out to be,” he said, leaning his hip against the desk as he loosely crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, it’s not your mother I’m worried about,” Founrier pointed out grimly, winking as a rare smile cracked his otherwise stern expression. He took his hat from the nearby stand, and nodded once to Q. “ _Bonne nuit_ ,” he said before opening the door.

“ _Bonne nuit,_ ” Q replied right as Fournier left the flat, closing the door quietly behind him with a soft _click_.

He sighed, closing his eyes in a momentary wish to just _sleep_. Turning around, he leaned forward and minimized the old program and pulled up his Google calendar to check for any more evening appointments.

He slowly exhaled in relief when he realized that he only had one client in a few minutes, and a regular. _He won’t stay long, he never does_ , Q thought grimly as he pulled up his decryption program before moving to the couch and took the untouched port. Taking a healthy swallow, he poured the rest of it down the sink before turning back to clean the flat of any evidence left of any other visitors. The last thing he did was stash his private mobile in a pillowcase at the back of the bottom bureau drawer in his bedroom, erasing any potential links that could trace back to him.

_Knock, knock!_

“One moment!” he called before heading back to the kitchenette to load up the dishwasher and quickly scan the small flat for anything he may have missed through his first sweep. Then he closed both the study and bedroom doors before opening the front door to face one of the most volatile clients he’d ever had to deal with in his three years since moving to France.

“Patrice. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?” he said, stepping aside to let the mercenary into the flat and closing the door as Patrice paced around the room in his customary circuits before finally settling down in the sofa. Wherever the man had been, the conditions had not been kind to him. Healing sunburns graced his face along with faded burn marks along exposed skin— _gunfire_ —but the dark eyes were sharp as ever as he turned to face Q.

“I need another favor,” Patrice said finally, readjusting his jacket so Q could see the firearm holster. “Slight rush job, as my employer does not know that I am here.”

Q nodded as he walked back to his computer, careful to keep his hands where Patrice could see them. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” he replied, keeping his voice calm despite not feeling the same. He looked up right as Patrice glanced out the window again— _on the run_ —and then asked, “How may I help you this time?”

“Decryption and reveal of the contents,” Patrice said, pulling out a small hard drive from underneath the shirt. He slipped the cord off his neck and tossed it to Q. “Along with a potential estimate of value, I think my employer may be ripping me off for sure this time since he did not tell me it was valuable.”

Q nearly missed it but his hands shot out right as the necklace fell, and he caught the string before it could hit the ground. “What makes you think it was valuable in the first place?” Q asked, turning around and bending down to pull out a data reader from one of the numerous drawers, placing the hard drive on the desk next to the keyboard.

“Several undercover MI6 agents stole a computer from Italian owners, and were guarding it. I had to take the hard drive, as MI6 had sent two agents to provide reinforcements for the squad,” Patrice said as Q set the reader on the desk. “A field agent and a double-oh, to be exact. They arrived less than five minutes after I left the safe house and chased me through Istanbul before the double-oh was shot off a train,” he said as Q nearly dropped the hard drive.

Q twisted around to stare at him. “You shot a _double-oh_?” he asked disbelievingly; he’d heard rumors of MI6’s elite cadre of nine agents from a few of the building residents, primarily the young women who swooned over the thought of encountering their mysterious lovers again. He’d also heard of the agents from the shadier clients, one of whom had actually spent a week throwing his Double-O tail off the trail before approaching Q for bug fixes.

“No, his partner did; she meant to shoot me, but missed. My employer told me that it was nothing but a list of minor personnel stolen from an Italian contact, but why would my employer and MI6 share a vested interest in _personnel lists_?” Patrice asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Q connect the reader to the computer. “I’m then forced to go to ground for the next couple of months after two Americans tried to kill me in Athens, so I want to know why my employer wants that data so badly, but it’s all heavily encrypted. The first three hackers that looked at it couldn’t figure it out.”

Q wondered if those three hackers could still speak. Or breathe, for that matter.

“Well, it’s going to take me a bit of time to analyze and then crack into the code,” Q said, placing the drive into the reader and grimacing when his screen went dark and white letters and numbers began to appear rapidly, one at a time. “When do you need it by?” he asked, glancing back at Patrice.

“Five days. I will be heading to Macau soon to receive payment for another assignment. I would like to deliver the data then, the employer is currently under the impression that I am still in the process of acquiring the hard drive,” Patrice said, glancing at his watch again. “I will wire half of your payment now, and the rest once I have the data.”

Q remained silent for a moment, wondering if he was ready to risk MI6’s wrath once they realized that he’d sided with Patrice instead of them. After everything else that happened the last time he was in London, he didn’t know if he would escape unscathed, much less survive; there was no telling of what happened to the original owner that allowed MI6 to get their hands on the hard drive. _Unless it was theirs to begin with, and were stealing it back from Patrice._ “I will do this commission under one special condition,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Patrice, who narrowed his eyes. “You pay me extra as hazard pay.”

Patrice paused, eyed him suspiciously as he slowly stood up, hands relaxed at his side. He hadn’t reached for a gun yet, which Q took as a good sign, but Q knew better than to let Patrice know that he was afraid. “You’ve never asked for that before,” Patrice finally said, eyes narrowing slightly at Q.

“Well, I’ve never before ran the risk of angering an agency that has _nine_ professional assassins working for it, now have I?” Q pointed out before going back to ensuring that all the connections were complete and there was no chance of a mistranslation or misfire that could damage his operating systems. “If you don’t pay...I’ll call MI6 tonight and tell them exactly where you are and where you will be going in the next five days,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could fully grasp the ramifications of the threat. _Shit_.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The hand rested at Patrice’s side, slightly close to the gun handle.

“Would I?” Q nodded to the hard drive and said, “A little hard to turn around and walk out with it now, isn’t it?”

“I’ll shoot you.” The hand moved to the grip.

“Do that, and you’ll have French authorities coming after you, I’m expecting to meet with someone tomorrow,” Q said, keeping his voice even despite the slight thudding in his chest. Not entirely a lie; as a prominent lawyer, Fournier did have considerable weight in the courts and government. Meanwhile, Q’s employers at the embassy would report his disappearance, and César would easily tell them everything. Patrice would be hunted once more.

The hand rested on the grip, but then relaxed a second later. “Get me what I want, and I’ll pay the extra in addition to your regular fees. How much?” Patrice said through clenched teeth.

“Five hundred, in Euro if it’s all the same to you,” Q said, shrugging with one shoulder. “Give me the envelope with the hazard pay, and I’ll give you your hard drive.”

Patrice remained standing there with a stiff smile, but nodded. “Five days. I trust you will be finished by then?” he said, glancing once around the small flat.

“I’ve got nothing else to do,” Q replied as the computer _pinged_ , signaling the completion of the download. He sighed, glancing at the screen and hoping he didn’t have a lot of work to do. “Five days, at this time and place.”

“I look forward to it,” Patrice said coldly before leaving the flat, taking care to not slam the door or make any other noise as he shut the door behind him.

Q remained silent, watching him leave. “That makes one of us,” he muttered under his breath as he opened the decryption program to start an analysis of what security measures the hard drive owners had in place before Patrice and his employer got their hands on it. Somewhere on the disc, he knew, there was a chance that the original programmer would have left his own signature in case of theft and code identification. As the program began to scan the device, he went over and locked his front door, then the two windows in his flat before heading to the kitchen to get a kettle of tea going.

_I’ll work for another two hours, and then let the program keep going while I get some sleep and head back to work in the morning._

Hopefully, a good portion of the data would be decrypted by the time he returned in early evening and transitioned between his jobs; the computer would have to be moved out of sight just in case someone tried to break into his flat, but he could always set up in the study, which guaranteed privacy and quiet.

Q sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter as he watched the kettle begin to boil.


	2. Chapter 2

His joints burned with every little movement he made.

James Bond gritted his teeth as he tossed the damp towel off to the side where he’d tossed the blue tracksuit before his shower, wincing as he stretched already-sore muscles. Somehow, he suspected that he’d regret this particular aspect of returning to MI6 aside from returning to active duty: the near constant pain from healing injuries or the lack of mobility the night before. Breathing through his nose, he reached for the pair of trousers that someone had set aside in addition to a shirt and suit jacket. He froze at the sight of shadows on the wall in front of him, and then adjusted his own position so that he could see out into the corridor that he knew led to the main hall in this underground part of the new headquarters.

_The noise of the tunnels may deter ambushes, but Ronson and his squad were also relatively safe when the assassin killed all four of them._

“Your primary objective is to retrieve the laptop, or the hard drive at the very least if you cannot manage the entire thing,” M had told him while Major Boothroyd pulled together the necessary equipment—guns, radios, and a stun baton for close-quarters combat—at the last minute. After two weeks of radio silence, Ronson had finally managed to contact London and request rescue from a persistent tail. “Do not engage their pursuer. Draw him out in the open _only if you have to_ , and provide the field agent accompanying you an open shot.”

“I have neither the time nor inclination to babysit new agents, they’re underfoot and a nuisance more often than not,” Bond informed her in a cold voice even as Major Boothroyd pressed the equipment into his hands.

“Nonetheless, should the mission go as planned, it will be an excellent learning exercise for the field agent,” M said, ignoring Bond’s scowl and objections. “If not, then the mission will be an opportunity to see how the agent operates under pressure and if they can take the initiative should you be unable to issue orders,” she said, turning to Boothroyd, who continued monitoring something without acknowledging her. “You will of course be linked directly back to headquarters, specifically my office.”

Bond paused. “What exactly is on this hard drive you want?” he asked, blue eyes narrowing slightly.

M remained stubbornly silent for a few moments, and for a moment, Bond thought he would have to press the issue. She hesitated, and then said, “Undercover NATO operatives in terrorist organizations around the world are on that list along with all cover identities and safe house locations. Ronson was supposed to escort the data back to London from the British embassy in Rome, but obviously, he is compromised. It is _imperative_ that you return with the drive.” Nodding to Major Boothroyd, she said, “The Major will brief you on your equipment. Do try not to die or get any others of ours killed, double-oh seven,” she said before leaving Q-Branch.

_Did you ever anticipate the mission ending the way it did?_

Fully dressed, Bond straightened his tie and left the room, passing the makeshift gym before stepping out into the hall and navigating through staff and repairmen. Ignoring the whispers he left in his wake, he headed for the small room within the temporary TSS to wait for M’s summons to her office. A quick glance through the glass windows across the floor revealed a few empty chairs, a silent testament to the damage TSS had suffered in the explosions five days ago. If he remembered the reports correctly, they had sustained the most casualties with five out of ten confirmed dead, soon to be six if old Major Boothroyd succumbed to his own injuries.

_Knock, knock._

He looked up to see the young field agent who had accompanied him to Istanbul, only to shoot him off the moving train when attempting to hit Patrice. She’d changed her combat clothes for a blouse and skirt, but he knew better than to rest easy at the apparent harmlessness. He quirked a smile as he stood up, pretending to brush his sleeves off as he discreetly checked her person for any concealed weapons. “She’s ready for you now,” she said as Bond finished adjusting his cuffs.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” he asked, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow.

She ducked her head in embarrassment. “I believe I’m the one who should say sorry,” she said, backing a few steps to let him pass as he approached her.

Bond snorted as he paused at her side. “It was only four ribs. Some of the less vital organs. Nothing major,” he said before gesturing for her to lead the way. “However, do warn me if the committees decide to give you a gun again.”

“I highly doubt you’ll have to worry much about that, but you’ll be the first to know. I’ve been reassigned for now, to assist Colonel Mallory with the transition,” she said as she began to walk, Bond carefully keeping pace with her. “Apparently the committees don’t think favorably of those who try to kill the great double-oh seven, even if he does have resurrection powers,” she said, pausing briefly to let two techs walk by.

“You gave it your best shot. Moving targets, after all, are the most difficult to hit,” Bond said, nodding to her once as they approached a set of metal stairs that led to a glass-walled office. He could see M’s back, hunched over her desk, along with an anxious-looking Tanner with Riley Masters, Boothroyd’s second-in-command, hovering on M’s other side. “What happened that has Q-Branch involved?”

“Not entirely sure, it’s been a bit of a scattered mess since the explosion a week ago. Mallory arrived this morning for his own sitrep, but M’s attention is split between the two of them,” the woman said, glancing up at the window in question. She gestured for Bond to head towards the stairs, and as he was about to leave, she said, “Oh, and Bond?”

He turned with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“If moving targets are difficult to hit, then you should keep moving,” she said, a small smile gracing her features when he nodded in acknowledgement.

He was still grinning even as he climbed the stairs to the makeshift office, letting his usual mask slide into place when he spotted the unfamiliar man— _Mallory_ —sitting in one of two office chairs. Riley glanced up at him and shrank back slightly, but Tanner was too engrossed in his own screen to notice. Bond took the empty chair in front of M, eyeing the ceramic bulldog before he said, “Whole office goes up in smoke and that thing survives?”

“Your interior decorating tips were always appreciated, double-oh seven,” M said without looking up from the documents before handing the packet to Riley. “Has anyone been able to narrow down the point of origin?” she asked, eyes narrowing when Riley twitched as though to retreat but thought better of it.

“Not quite yet, we’re trying but whomever has the list is either very careful or very good at what he or she does,” Riley said, glancing between Bond and M. “He or she used scrambling technology to create multiple signals that could _all_ be a point of origin, which leaves us to filter out each one—and we’re in the middle of that right now,” he added hastily when M raised an eyebrow.

“Please stay here for a few more minutes, I’m not quite finished,” she said before turning to Bond. “Double-oh seven, this is Colonel Gareth Mallory from the Ministry of Defence. I asked him to be here because we need to move quickly, and that means going a head without clearing things with the Ministry first. Time is crucial, as intelligence finally pinpointed the location of the list and we’ve confirmed that it’s changed hands already at least once.”

Bond looked up sharply. “You found the man from Istanbul.”

“We combined what we knew of the bullet fragments you provided with witness reports to identify the man as Patrice, a mercenary with no national or family ties,” Tanner said, looking up from the computer. “The Americans nearly captured him in Athens for revenge against the death of an ambassador, but he escaped and presumably traveled to France, where authorities chased him out a few days ago. He’s taken refuge in Bern, Switzerland, and hasn’t moved since.”

“What makes you say that the list has changed hands?” Bond asked, looking up at Riley, who ducked his head as he glanced at M.

“Intelligence located the list in Paris, an embedded code tripped a few alarms in Q-Branch a few hours ago, as it was designed to do should anyone try to untangle it,” M said, leaning back in her chair. “If Patrice is in Bern and the list is in Paris, it is reasonable to assume that the list changed hands and is possibly at its destination. The data is heavily encrypted, and it would take several weeks for an amateur to get through. If this new player is trying to get into it, we still have considerable time for retrieval before he or she publishes the names.”

“I would not bank on extra time, only because we do not know the hacker’s skill level or intentions,” Mallory warned, leaning forward slightly. “Nor do we know how long Patrice plans to stay in Bern.”

“We have narrowed down the network to a complex just outside the Parisian suburbs. Retrieve both the data and the individual who has it. I have questions for him,” M said, raising an eyebrow. “That means I need him _alive_ , double-oh seven.”

“You have an unusual amount of faith in my skills, M.”

“Show me then, that it is not misplaced,” M snapped before standing up. “I need to know whether the individual is the end or another link on the chain, and what he intends to do with the information. After that, he will be duly processed as an enemy of the Crown, I won’t take any risks.” She gestured to Riley and said, “As Major Boothroyd is still in Medical recovering from the blast, Masters will be handling your equipment.”

“It may be advisable to proceed as though Patrice will return for the data, just in case,” Tanner said, turning around in his seat to look at Bond.

“Duly noted.” Bond turned to M and said, “How do you wish to proceed if he does not have the list after all?”

“Return him to London all the same,” M replied, closing the folder in front of her. “I will not broker any deals with him, especially if he does not have the list in his possession. His fate may just be worse than if he returned it voluntarily.”

“Yes, mum,” Bond replied, standing up as M scowled. He glanced over at Tanner and said, “What was Patrice’s business in France?”

“We’re not entirely sure, he went into several complexes throughout the night before the authorities arrived,” Tanner said, pulling up an email and a few attached documents. “Four men and women from the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence finally caught up to him after midnight and chased him out of the country. The agents were operating on a tip from the lawyer César Fournier, he apparently saw and recognized Patrice on the streets when walking home from his nephew’s flat,” Tanner explained, pushing his chair back to allow Bond access to the laptop. “Fournier then contacted us the other night, under advisement from the French.”

Bond didn’t immediately say anything, just continued to study the screen before straightening. “No translation errors?”

“Not that we can tell. Fournier has agreed to cooperate with us in this investigation, and is willing to provide any information that we wish to know,” Tanner said, looking between Bond and M.

“I’ll have to talk to him, and soon,” Bond said, turning to Riley. “How fast can you get me on a flight to Paris?”

“I was actually thinking Eurostar, it’s faster on short notice like this,” Riley said, glancing at M as though waiting for his dismissal.

“Contrary to what you may be thinking, double-oh seven, I believe you are ready for this,” M said finally, leaning on her desk as she met Bond’s steady gaze with one of her own. “You will have whatever resources you deem necessary, and I trust your judgment on the target’s verdict.” With one final glance at Mallory, she turned back to Bond and said, “I expect a swift recovery. You are both dismissed.”

Riley nodded quickly before leaving the office, clutching the stack of files in his hands as he did. Bond turned to leave as well, but abruptly stopped when Mallory said, “A question, double-oh seven, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, sir,” Bond said, turning back to him while keeping his face perfectly blank.

“Why not stay dead? Why return at all?” Mallory asked patiently. “You had a way out, a comfortable retirement, yet you turn it down.”

Bond didn’t immediately reply, suddenly back in the destroyed safe house in Istanbul. Ronson’s still form lay before him on the couch, the white shirt stained scarlet. Despite not knowing the other agent very well, Ronson had still been a colleague. “Have you been on the field lately, sir?” he asked, tilting his head at Mallory. “The front lines aren’t as clear as they used to be.”

“I know that, but why not step back and let someone younger keep pace with the target for once?” Mallory pressed, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no shame to admitting that you’ve lost a step.”

“Hire me or fire me, but make your decision and stick to it,” Bond snapped.

“If he says he’s ready, then he’s ready,” M cut in sharply, startling Mallory. She turned to him and said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm for doing your job, but as long as I am head of this department, which I still am as far as I know, _I_ will choose my own operatives. Is that clear?”

For a moment, no one spoke or moved. Then Mallory nodded with a slight smile. “Apologies, M,” he said, moving to sit back down in his chair.

“Double-oh seven?” Riley said, catching Bond’s attention. “The sooner we get your equipment, the sooner you can leave for Paris. The next train will be available within the hour, we just have to get moving if we want to catch it.”

Without another glance to either M or Mallory, Bond followed Riley out and down the metal staircase to the rows of techs. “Who is César Fournier?” he asked as he followed Riley through the invisible maze of desks.

“Prominent French lawyer, he was responsible for putting several Quantum leaders behind bars back in 2009. He’s married to Mara née Winfield Fournier, and has two daughters with dual citizenships between France and Great Britain,” Riley explained as he led Bond through a door and down the stone corridor to another part of the warren. “The nephew that M mentioned is Alexander Winfield, the only son of Mara’s youngest sister, Emily,” he added as he pushed a door open into the makeshift Q-Branch. “The nephew works as a clerk at the British embassy, but, and this stays between you and me, I discovered in his records that MI5 recruiters had courted him while he was still in university before he moved to Paris. Apparently the money or the job wasn’t good enough to accept.”

 _Really?_ That was interesting. Bond didn’t know Farrows, the MI5 director, very well, just that both intelligence agencies never got along and both directors had the mind of bloodhounds when it came to promising recruits. To voluntarily leave a potential hire alone, even after a refusal, was nearly unheard of. “What did Farrows want with him?” he asked as they approached an unoccupied workstation.

“Your guess is as good as mine. They never said what the offer was for or why Winfield declined,” Riley said, shrugging with one shoulder before waking his computer up. “Winfield left London not too long after declining though, I suspect he didn’t want to work for us either.”

Bond watched as Riley began purchasing a train ticket. “Do you think you can arrange a meeting with Fournier for me?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course. I will email the details once I have them,” Riley said, moving away from the computer and gesturing for Bond to follow him. “Let’s go get your equipment, shall we?”

Bond nodded before following Riley towards the makeshift R&D labs.


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid-afternoon when Bond arrived to Paris.

He found the car rental that Riley had procured for him on short notice, but he still made a face at the drab paint job that would theoretically keep him out of trouble from standing out too much. Pulling out the GPS device, he typed in Fournier’s office address and set it on the dashboard before pulling out of the car park. While reorienting himself, he took note of the street names before deciding to make a quick detour on his way to the office, one that he hoped would be useful in the long run.

The complex under suspicion, the one whose networks briefly contained the list of NATO agents, was slightly out of the direct and fastest route to Fournier, and the impending appointment was the only factor that prevented Bond from lingering in front of the building for too long. Several stories tall, it was relatively short and compact compared to its neighbors and in bad need of repair. A black-haired young man wearing glasses and a large anorak stood at the front door, fumbling with something in his computer bag while balancing on a foot— _he must have dropped something on his other foot, flower pot is overturned on sidewalk—_ before pulling out a small, flat white object from the bag. He held the object up to the card reader, which blinked green before the man hobbled his way to the front door and let himself inside.

_Might have to pretend being a new resident or a friend of a current one. Latter is more difficult than the former, but residents are least likely to suspect a visitor to a neighbor they all know._

Fournier’s office turned out to be tucked away to the southern Parisian districts, nestled on the edge of residential neighborhoods and well out of the way of the constant tourism industry. Bond arrived a few minutes before the appointed time, conscious of Riley’s warning that the lawyer’s tight schedule would not allow them another meeting for a few months after today, and Bond did not intend to wait that long because of a simple mistake. He knew Fournier would be busy, almost guaranteeing him an easy trip since Fournier would want him out of the way as fast as politely possible.

The lobby was mostly empty save the receptionist in the center of the room, the soft yet rapid clicks of computer keys echoing in the room and grating against Bond’s nerves. He pulled out the scarf around his neck and opened his jacket slightly, the room warmer than the November chill outside, and she looked up and smiled when she saw him. “Bonjour monsieur. Comment puis-je vous aider?” she asked, voice nearly too soft for Bond to catch.

 _“_ J’ai un rendez-vous avec Monsieur Fournier à trois. Je m’appelle Bond,” he replied, watching carefully as she nodded in reply before turning to her computer, undoubtedly to look up his meeting with Fournier at three in her records.

“Un instant, s’il vous plaît _,”_ she said even as she typed in the information before pressing several commands. She pursed her lips for a moment, and then straightened in her seat, her eyes widening for a moment as she studied her screen. “Son bureau est au troisième niveau, trois portes de l’ascenseur sur la gauche,” she said quickly, glancing up at him.  She hesitated, and then asked, “Voulez-vous que je vous écris pour vous?”

Bond pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. “Non, merci,” he said, allowing a smile that caused the secretary to duck her head in either embarrassment or sudden shyness. He nodded once towards her before moving around her desk towards the lift.

He encountered very few other people on his walk to Fournier’s office— _third storey, three doors to the left—_ and a security officer was the only other person to stop him, hand extended for Bond’s ID. A quick glance, and the officer immediately returned it with apologies as he stepped to the side to let Bond pass. Bond suspected that Riley had allowed Fournier to know of Bond’s link to MI6 in order to impress the level of importance of the visit, but he didn’t question the ease at which he entered the office, a two-room space that had another secretary near the entrance. He spotted a half-open door behind her, and so patiently waited until she finished up a phone call with someone.

She straightened when she saw him. “Mr. Bond, I presume?” she asked in accented English.

“Is Mr. Fournier here?” he asked, ignoring her question.

She nodded. “He’s wrapping up a phone call right now, but he will be available in a few minutes,” she said, gesturing to one of the nearby chairs. “Would you like to take a seat in the meantime?”

“No thank you,” Bond said, leaning back slightly to catch a glimpse of the man in the adjoining room; the leather chair’s back was to him, and the phone cord wrapped around the side and out of sight. “I don’t mind standing,” he said after a moment to the woman, who nodded.

“Please don’t hesitate to take any refreshments if you wish,” she said, nodding to the water cooler and the cart next to it.

Bond nodded in reply, moving to stand in front of a miniature portrait of _The Fighting Temeraire_ in hopes of getting a better vantage point into Fournier’s office. He could see the backs a few picture frames sitting on the desk, along with the back of a taped photograph to the monitor. Books lined the shelves, framing a window that overlooked the rest of Paris, but nothing else that Bond could see put him at unease.

He turned his attention back to the painting once he heard Fournier say, “ _Au revoir,”_ before a sigh, a creaking of leather, the _thunk_ of someone putting the receiver back into the cradle. “Ah, and you must Mr. Bond from London,” Fournier said suddenly, catching Bond’s attention. The blond yet graying lawyer stood and bowed slightly. “Welcome to Paris, I do hope your trip here was comfortable. Can I offer you anything to eat or drink,” he said as Bond entered the office, carefully closing the door behind him.

“No thank you, as I’m afraid I’m on a tight schedule.” He sat down in the offered chair before facing Fournier. “Did my employers mention why I wanted to talk to you?” he asked, watching Fournier carefully as the other man shrugged.

“Only that you had questions about Patrice, but not specifically why. I suspect we have much to discuss in that regard, however,” Fournier said, leaning back in his chair slightly. He folded his hands on his lap, and asked, “How may I be of assistance?”

“When you saw Patrice that night almost a week ago, what was he doing? Did he meet anyone?” Bond asked, lowering his voice slightly.

The other man frowned thoughtfully. “He was just walking, we passed each other on the street when I was walking back to my car. I turned to make sure it was who I thought it was, and he seemed almost…uncertain about where to go before crossing the street and making an immediate left, towards the back of the complex there,” Fournier said, twisting the chair slightly so he could glance out the window. “I remember being worried because my nephew lived there, and his family entrusted him to my care. So I called first the police, and then the Central Directorate of Intelligence for assistance. No one else.”

“You are aware that Patrice is wanted for stealing MI6 intelligence, correct? Intelligence that briefly appeared on the networks at this address,” Bond replied, brow furrowing slightly as he slid a slip of paper across the desk.

Fournier picked up the paper and studied it for a moment. He frowned, and then said, “This is my nephew’s building.” He looked up at Bond and said, “My nephew may be able to better help you then, he always has an ear down to the ground on technological matters. He may also know something from working at the British embassy here in Paris,” he suggested, pushing the paper back to Bond.

Bond raised an eyebrow, well aware of how effectively an embassy could serve as a hub of information for anyone, saboteur or not. He’d used embassies himself as a cover while conducting his own mission, and didn’t put it past Fournier’s nephew to realize the same thing. _Especially if MI5 has expressed interest in him before, there’s something there that would attract not only them, but others as well._ “Has your nephew ever associated with Patrice before?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

Fournier stiffened, yet his face didn’t change. “Alexander is a loyal British citizen who has done nothing but work hard for his country to the point where he constantly overworks himself,” he said, his voice slightly strained.

“Yet he works here in France,” Bond countered.

“Because he _chose_ to work here,” Fournier clarified. “Am I correct in assuming that you chose to work for MI6, Mr. Bond?” he asked, folding his hands on top of his desk. “You both chose to serve England but in different capacities. Does that make Alexander any less loyal than you?”

“Four men have already died, and more are slated for execution if I do not recover that list. Forgive me for questioning your nephew’s motives out of caution,” Bond replied calmly. He tilted his head, and then asked, “You think he can help?”

Fournier nodded. “Especially if he lives in the same building as the man you seek. I can call ahead and let him know that you are coming, he’ll still be at work right now,” he offered while reaching for the phone.

“Please do, tell him it’s a matter of national security, and I’ll meet him at the embassy right as his shift ends,” Bond said, standing up with Fournier. They shook hands, and Bond said, “Thank you, Monsieur Fournier, for your assistance.”

“Please inform me at any point if I can be of any more help to you. Good luck, Mr. Bond, on your endeavors,” Fournier said, nodding towards the door before sitting back down again and picking up the phone.

“I may accept your offer,” Bond half-warned before leaving the office.

He waited until he was outside the office building before pulling out his mobile as he walked towards the car. He tapped out ‘ _Retrieve A.W.’s files and photo for me_ ’before sending the text message to R. Winfield’s relation to Fournier by marriage meant that the two would have no familial resemblances, and Bond had never seen a photo of the aunt.

He glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that he had a few hours before Winfield’s shift ended, so he decided to poke around the building until it was time to intercept the other man at the embassy.

Parking down a block from the residential building under suspicion gave Bond a chance to assess the situation as he got closer, scanning the people fluttering around the main entrance with furniture from a furniture company van. Spotting the security officer at the door, Bond picked up an unattended lamp on his way in and nodded once to the guard as he walked in, showing him the lamp for emphasis. He set it down on a few taped boxes once he was inside the lobby and managed to catch the lift right as the doors began to close, helping a young couple maneuver a sofa into the car.

“Thank you,” the man said, wiping his brow with an arm as Bond wedged himself onto the lift. He gestured to the buttons and said, “Which storey?”

“Not entirely sure. I just got off the phone with someone who referred me to a technological expert who I think lives here, I don’t know the name but I’m having a bit of data retrieval problems,” Bond explained, watching the couple’s faces.

“ _Oh_ , you must mean Q. He’s the only tech expert on the block, probably the youngest too,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Yes, he does that sometimes, calls in clients without checking them through building security first,” she added as her husband pressed a ‘9’ after the ‘16’ on the panel. “It’s annoying as hell when he does that.”

“At least you won’t be on here for very long,” the husband said, gesturing to the sofa. He sighed and said, “As a forewarning, his rates tend to increase with the more problems he finds in your systems.”

“Is he the only programmer within the entire building?” Bond asked, keeping his tone light.

“Yes, but he’s very, very good, so I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Money well _spent_ ,” the woman replied right the lift softly _dinged_ and the doors slid open again.

“Right, this is yours. You’ll want the second door on your right, after you turn right. Thank you for your help,” the man said, nodding as Bond moved off the lift.

 _And thank you for yours_. “It was no problem at all,” Bond replied, nodding once before the lift doors closed.

The hall, lined with doors on either side, was empty save for two, full duffel bags sitting in front of a half-opened door that bore the brass numbers of 9121. _Well, where are we going in such a hurry_? Bond mused as he tilted his head to get a better look at the contents without actually touching the bags. Curiosity piqued yet foiled by sealed duffel zippers, Bond glanced down the end of the hall to make sure it was empty before nudging the door open with a foot.

He winced at the loud _creeeaaak_ before slipping inside, pulling his Walther out and switching the safety off. Pushing the door back into its original place, he ran a quick sweep of the flat, finger poised above the trigger as he checked each room. He paused only in the dimly lit study, where a darkened laptop lay partially buried underneath scattered piles of papers. A Scrabble mug of cold, half-finished tea sat on top a pile of emails that caught Bond’s eye— _all from someone named Silva, dated about three years ago._ He started to reach for the pile.

 _Thud_.

He froze at the sound of the front door closing, and then ducked into a corner of the study, scrunched up against a second table as he brought the Walther to bear, just in case. Footsteps went from the living room to the living room, where they lingered, and then came around the corner and into the study. From his hiding place in the corner, Bond saw a young, dark-haired man walk in, cardigan skewed on his frame and hair sticking up slightly as he ran another hand through it and woke up the laptop with the other. His back was to Bond, but if he turned around just so, it would be all over.

_Brrring! Brrring!_

The man looked at the mobile, and then scowled at the caller ID. Pressing a button, he tucked it between his ear and shoulder as he pulled up Google and logged into his account. “Hello?” he asked, never once breaking stride.  “Is there a problem?” he asked a moment later, fingers pausing on the keys as he listened to the other end. After a few moments, he said, “I see. Did you lead them back to me?” Bond stiffened slightly at the question, and adjusted his aim before he continued to wait.

The man inhaled sharply, the fingers tightening around the mobile before he said, “Well, that’s hardly my fault now, isn’t it? I will not go to Bern just to drop off a little piece of hardware, I’ve already had to adjust my travel plans for the weekend for the third time today, I am not going to do it again just to accommodate you and your mistake.”

Bern. Patrice. Hardware. The list of NATO agents.

_The anonymous hacker._

What had the woman on the lift called him? _Q_ , that was it. Silently cursing M for wanting the boy alive, Bond kept the gun trained on Q as he shifted into a crouch, prepared to spring once he confirmed what he still needed to know.

“Yes, of course I still have it,” Q said before sharply turning away and walking out of the study and into the bedroom. Bond listened to the footsteps as they paused, and the bed creaked before there was a rattling sound of an object against cardboard. “How about I meet you in Rome?” Q suggested as Bond stood up and silently crossed the study, pausing long enough only to look at the email address under the Google account before darting behind the study door. His recollection of the flat’s layout told him that all he had to do was turn the corner and shoot.

More footsteps, and Q appeared in the living room within Bond’s vision, carrying a familiar leather cord in the hand opposite of the one holding the mobile. A familiar piece of tech dangled just in sight.

 _The list_.

One press of the trigger, a single bullet to the kneecap, and the mission would be over. He even had the benefit of a confession without coercion.

Yet…

_Shoot him now, and I won’t get to Patrice, who knows his employer, who wants the list._

_But there’s also the risk of losing it all._

Bond silently pulled the hammer back, his finger hovering over the trigger as he raised the Walther and aimed straight at the back of Q’s knees.

For a second, he stood there.

Then, slowly and reluctantly, he lowered the Walther a moment later.

Q straightened and started to turn towards the study, forcing Bond to retreat back into the shadows of his new hiding place just behind the study door. “ _No_ , I will not do the handover in a church, least of all _that_ one,” Q said in a terse voice as he re-entered the study and pulled up his schedule on Google again. “Call me when you think of a better meeting place, and I’ll meet you there sometime tomorrow at a time that works best for you— _yes_ tomorrow, I never fly,” Q said, typing something into the Google calendar. “And bring everything that we discussed…yes, yes, goodbye.”

He shut the mobile off with an audible _click_ before slipping it into a pocket, his head bowed in silence for a few moments. Sighing, he rubbed his temples before finally draping the cord around his own neck, tucking the drive underneath his cardigan. Then he collected his laptop and left the study, followed by a faint _thump_ in the other room and the audible _snap_ of a suitcase. Then Q returned long enough to stuff the laptop into a computer bag before stalking off again, muttering under his breath about tickets. Then he left the flat altogether, the door closing behind him with a _thud_ followed by the scraping of a key in the lock.

Bond still waited a few minutes before finally moving out of his hiding spot and heading back into the bedroom, just to see if Q had left any further evidence behind that would help with the conviction of treason if M chose to go that route.

_A last minute check never hurt anyone. Who exactly are you, Q?_


	4. Chapter 4

Five hours later, and he still had no answer.

“Mr. Bond?”

He looked up at the soft question, reflexively reaching for his gun, but stopped when he saw that it was only the air hostess on the privately-chartered flight to Rome. Sighing, he closed the laptop issued from Q-Branch so that she could not see the decoding program loading, and turned to face her. Carefully vetted prior to hire, the young air hostess was one of three crew members on the plane that M had handpicked for this particular assignment of assisting agents as needed. That did not necessarily meant Bond trusted her, but he offered her the benefit of doubt with a smile before he asked, “Yes?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’ll be landing in Rome within the next hour or so, and to be ready to begin landing preparations,” she said, her gaze flickering towards the laptop before turning back to him. She hesitated, and then said, “Do let me know if you need anything before then.”

“Of course,” Bond said in a firm tone, signaling the end of the conversation.

She nodded once before walking away.

He reopened the laptop and pulled out the stack of papers he’d taken from the study right before leaving Q’s flat. His second and third sweeps of the flat and its secrets turned up not only printed emails, but also a memory stick hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a powered-down mobile stashed in the sock drawer. Then he’d left the flat, arranging for a chartered flight to Rome in order to beat Q there and establish himself in the event of a confrontation.

Finally satisfied that ‘Ms. King’ was actually a neighbor and not a terrorist, Bon set the clipped stack of emails into their designated stack before waking up the laptop to check the download status. The phrase ‘70% COMPLETE’ blinked back at him, and he silently reached for another stack of clipped emails—all of which were organized by sender—and studied the date, noticing that they went as far back as 2009, with the most recent being two months ago. These were from someone named ‘R. Silva’, and had to deal with a meeting from early 2009 that involved Q, Silva, and five other leading hackers. Silva was also the first indicator that Q adjusted clientele from his neighbors to criminals.

Bond suddenly remembered that Fournier managed to successfully prosecute several Quantum leaders, when other governments even failed to locate them, back in 2009— _did you find them on your own, Fournier, or did you have help?_ He still remembered the names of the leaders, listening to the televised trial while checking the condemned against his own list of agents that he’d created that fateful night in Austria, during the opera.

_Ping!_

He looked up when the laptop chimed, indicating that the download was complete. Pulling up an encrypted video link, he sent a query to Riley for accessing the files on the memory stick. There were only a few listed, but he clicked on the first one.

Names upon names of criminals, some with greater offenses than others, flooded the display on an Excel sheet. Bond stared at the meticulously kept records, at first unsure of what to make of the data. Q had not only saved names, but also whatever information he could glean from them. In addition to names, he also had associated locations, aliases, the nature of the tech requests they had made of him, and even the intelligence agencies looking for them. A thin red line ran through several names along with a date underneath— _date of capture or death_ —along with notes in the last column.

His breath caught when he saw the names of several Quantum leaders— _the same ones that Fournier prosecuted in 2009_ —near the bottom, and were also crossed out, three of which had the same date under their names. He only paused when he saw that MI6 had received some of the targets, hell, he remembered some of the names that were crossed out here. Tavers had died while MI6 tried to catch him, Lefèvre was caught, tried, and found guilty of terrorism against the Crown, and Ramirez had been assassinated after being caught buying and selling English state secrets.

_Is he selling them out?_

The next file opened a yearly calendar, which he rearranged to display the week. He frowned when he found that it only went to last month, and then nothing.

_“Double-oh seven?”_

He turned to see that the video connection had finally gone through, and Riley seemed slightly tired as he looked back at Bond. “Riley, I have a few questions before I land in Rome,” Bond said, moving the window with the grainy video feed to the side so he could still see the calendar. “I assume that as Major Boothroyd’s second-in-command, you’re capable of hacking into a Gmail account without alerting the owner?” he asked, glancing at the crew cabin to make sure all doors were closed.

To his credit, Riley tried not to look offended. “ _Of course I can, I just need the goal of the search and the email address_ ,” he said, putting on a pair of headphones before typing something out on his end. “ _What specifically do you want me to do with this account?”_

“Locate his calendar, and find out if he has any appointments scheduled in Rome tomorrow, that’s when he said he’ll be meeting Patrice,” Bond said as he clicked the spreadsheet to examine it again in search of the email. Then he remembered: right before ducking behind the study door, Q had left the account open, giving him a few seconds to look at the address and memorize it. “The email address is quarter ghost at gmail dot com,” Bond said after a moment, his gaze settling on Patrice’s entry in the spreadsheet; the very last one and the most recently edited slot. ‘Decryption’ was the only word next to a date from earlier that week.

“ _Quarter ghost at…”_ Riley paused, leaned back slightly to check his surroundings, and then leaned forward again. “ _Bond, are you trailing Q?”_

Bond flinched. “You know him?” he asked, careful to keep his voice down as he turned back to Riley, who quickly shrugged.

 _“Yes and no. We met when working together on a programming project back in ’09, before MI6 even found me, but he fell out of contact once it was over even though we were friends by then,_ ” Riley explained, hunching his shoulders forward and ducking his head to remain out of sight from anyone nearby.

“Then do you know what his name is?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Erm, no. No one knew each other’s name for personal security purposes, only Silva, he was the host, only he knew our names,”_ Riley whispered, nearly flattening himself against the desk. _“We all had selected letters to use instead, and I chose ‘R’ and he chose ‘Q’. We were the only two British participants there, so we fell in together._ ”

“What did Silva want that necessitated having five hackers all together in one room?” Bond asked, curious despite himself.

“ _A failsafe program designed to either infect a network with a virus or wipe incriminating data should someone try to breach coded firewalls along with other programs. Security measures really, Silva was paranoid about everything and everyone,”_ Riley whispered, shrugging with one shoulder. “ _It wasn’t illegal, and Silva said he had no bones to pick with any international agencies._ ”

“Do you think he attacked MI6?” Bond said, considering the possibility. He didn’t know if Silva knew M or vice versa. Tanner had indicated that the attacker was most likely someone from M’s past, and the technological origins of the attack once again pointed back to Silva. It didn’t help that Silva re-established communication with one of his hackers a month prior to the attack, one who evidently refused any further collaboration, if the last email was anything to go by—Silva would have acted alone or with another one of his hackers except for Riley.

 _“Well, if M’s computer had survived the blast, which it didn’t by the way, I’d be able to tell for sure._ ” More clicking of keys, and then Riley said, “ _I’m almost into his account… God, he’s really increased the security here, I wonder if Google knows that he’s done this to something on their servers_.”

“Given what you know of his skills then, what are the chances of him decoding the list within the span of a week?” he asked, wishing he knew why Patrice had approached Q with the list in the first place. The mercenary had had three months to hand over the data without MI6 threat, yet he still hesitated.

“ _Are you sure he even has it?”_

“Yes, visual confirmation,” he said, resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the tabletop.

“ _Very likely then, he never could resist a decoding challenge. Is that what he did for Patrice?”_ Riley asked, keeping his voice low as he hunched forward, still typing.

“Possibly. When you get into the system, I want to know if he has met with Patrice in the last two weeks, and where he plans to handle the data exchange. Then I want _you_ to go to M and tell her about Silva and your and Q’s association with him. Tell her also that Q may have also decoded the list already and is on his way to meet with Patrice,” Bond said, glancing at the cabin doors to make sure they were still closed. Lowering his voice, he said, “She may not get to question him at this point, since we already know where the damn list went. Finally, see if you can find any hints as to Silva’s location, in case Q turns to him for shelter once he realizes that I’m on to him.”

“ _Noted_.” Riley was quiet for a moment as he scanned something next to the video screen on his laptop. “ _I’m in his account and looking at his calendar_. _Patrice and Q already met once a few days ago, and it looks like he will meet Patrice again tomorrow at sixteen hundred at the Galleria Borghese in Rome, but no indication of which room,_ ” he said, leaning back in his seat. “ _Which means, that they would both have to purchase tickets for the fifteen hundred tour, but that tour is full, so I can’t get you in there. There are still tickets for the seventeen hundred, so you’ll miss the hand off, but they might remain in the gallery as to avoid suspicion, and claim that they got separated._ ”

“Do that, and then put me in as his next appointment at seventeen thirty. I need a guarantee he’ll stay to talk,” Bond said, frowning when he reviewed Riley’s instructions while tapping a pen against the stack of emails. “He’s not taking a plane then.”

“ _No, he’s not. But he does have an email ticket confirmation from Euro Railways, which is an overnight train that will stop in Milan before heading to Rome. You’ll get there before him,”_ Riley said, leaning back in his seat.

Bond nodded, aware that he would not be able to arrive to Rome in time for a tour in order to case the place before approaching Q. “I’ll work on my cover, but won’t be able to have an earpiece in for the conversation. If I get lucky, I’ll catch Patrice on his way out,” he said, scanning the spreadsheet once again for any other hints of the request. “Any luck on locating a photograph of Winfield?”

“ _No, he’s covered his tracks well._ ” Bond wasn’t entirely sure if there was a note of admiration or not in Riley’s voice, but didn’t pursue it.

“Well, when you do, alert me immediately but discreetly. I have to sign off, but will be in contact once I have either Q or the information,” Bond said before powering down the video player.

He minimized the window before scanning the spreadsheet once more, and decided to keep the memory stick in case he needed evidence to either condemn or save Q, depending on what he found once he caught up to the hacker. He knew that there was a slim possibility that Q might be innocent, that he had no idea what was on that hard drive and only assumed that it was business as usual. Names without context could mean anything, from personnel lists or undercover agents or even civilian secret identities.

_But it was always about seeing through the illusions we cast to protect ourselves, wasn’t it? I learned from Vesper not to take people and their motives at face value._

Before closing the spreadsheet, he scanned the names for any mention of Silva, but even the printed emails revealed nothing specific about the man.

“Commander Bond?”

He looked up calmly at the air hostess, who nodded once in greeting. “The pilots asked me to inform you that we’ll be landing soon, and that you should prepare for arrival,” she said, watching him carefully. She hesitated, smoothing out her skirt, and then said, “Would you like me to call ahead for you and arrange for a hotel room? A car will be waiting for you on the tarmac once we land, and I can provide you with any information about the city that you may need.”

“No, a hotel room is something I would like to arrange myself, thank you,” Bond said, powering down the laptop before closing the lid. Stuffing the computer back into its bag, he asked, “Is there anything new from London that I should know about?”

She shook her head. “Nothing new that I’m aware of, just that M is under increasing pressure from the Ministry of Defence to find the list. No demands or threats have been made yet, and so she is hoping that whatever detour the list took at least bought you enough time to recover it before the damage can continue to grow out of her control,” she whispered softly before raising an eyebrow. “Anything else, Commander Bond? Is there anything that you would like me to report back to M?”

“No, not now. I will probably call Tanner later and make my inquiries then,” Bond said, leaning back in his chair and reaching for the martini he had requested at the beginning of the flight. “Thank you, though, for your assistance,” he said, raising the glass briefly in her direction before she nodded and left.

Sipping the martini, he pulled out the third of three items he had removed from Q’s flat in Paris. The mobile lay silent and dark on the table, rendered useless from a lack of power as Bond discovered when trying to switch it on. Bond didn’t know if it had been in the sock drawer because of poor charge retention or an unknown reason that was not immediately clear. He did not immediately recognize the model either, but reasoned that finding a charger would not be difficult.

As promised, a car waited for him on the tarmac not far from where the small plane landed in the Rome Ciampino Airport. He placed the laptop into a bigger suitcase before heading to the car, nodding once to the three-crew members as he walked down the small steps to the tarmac. Q would still be in Paris or on the train for a fourteen-hour trip by now, giving Bond plenty of time to scope the surrounding neighborhoods at his leisure and perhaps probe around for potential places that Q would stay. Once in the car, Bond headed for the motorway with the reassuring weight of his Walther once again in its shoulder holster underneath his jacket.

He waited until he was at a stoplight before texting Riley ‘ _Locate Q and keep track of him. Alert me if he goes off course’_ , and then crossed the Ponto Sublicio, aware that the sinking sun told him he had little time left to get ahead of Q while he still maintained a lead. He couldn’t recall if the gallery had two or three floors, he hadn’t visited Rome in years, but there was a chance he would have to rely on the fact that Q would rejoin a tour once he found a group big enough to slip into without notice.

_Beep!_

He pulled his mobile out long enough to read the message— _He just got on the train for Rome_ —and then stashed it away, heading off first to the gallery to examine the exterior in the off chance Q actively tried to run tomorrow. He could always search for a hotel, a phone charger, food, and possibly pleasant company once he was finished with that Anything to distract himself from the twinge of doubt in his gut…the same one that had spared Q his life earlier that day.

_He’s either innocent, and doesn’t know what it is he has, or he’s guilty, and will not only hand it back to Patrice, but also bargain for a higher price._

_Yet, either way M wants to see him...something doesn't seem right._


	5. Chapter 5

“Signor, signor! Vuole i gioielli nuovi per la sua donna? Io ho—”

“Non mi interessa,” Bond replied, waving off the jewelry street vendor that tried to follow him up the steps to the Galleria Borghese. Taking the steps two at a time, Bond entered the gallery lobby, the dying sunlight casting a brilliant orange glow across the marble floor seconds before Bond closed the door. Quiet murmurs of conversations in Italian, English and French replaced piercing cries of sellers outside, and he moved towards the ticket window with ten minutes to spare before the last tour of the day began.

The woman behind the window smiled when he approached the booth. “Buongiorno, signor, come posso aiutarti?” she asked, glancing him over before looking back up at him with a shy smile.

Bond offered an apologetic smile. “Scusa, il mio italiano è orribile, parla inglese?” he asked, the lie rolling smoothly off his tongue.

The woman smiled. “Of course. Good evening, sir, how may I help you?” she asked as she leaned forward.

“I have a reservation under the name of ‘Bond’,” he replied, pulling out his wallet before readjusting his suit jacket to better conceal the Walther PPK he had tucked away in his favorite shoulder holster. Technically illegal, along with the mobile in his trousers pocket, but what the gallery management didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. _I’d rather be arrested for illegal possession of a firearm than face Patrice unarmed._  He rested a hand in his jacket pocket, fingers curling around his printed reservation of the tour, watching in silence as the woman typed something in her computer before glancing at him. _Act as though under observation until mark is spotted._

“Very well, one minute please.” She turned to her computer, typing in a few commands before the printer behind her, and the small machine next to the computer suddenly whirred to life. Leaning back in her seat, she took the paper out of the printer before neatly tearing it in half. “You may enter in five minutes. Are you a part of a guided tour?” she asked as she passed over half of the paper as she gestured to the lobby.

“No, just me today,” Bond said as he took the ticket from her along with the receipt and museum brochure.

“All right. In the brochure, there is a map of the museum, along with information pertaining to the exhibits. There is also a discount for the gardens included inside,” she said, opening the trifold to the familiar floor plan of the gallery.

“Thank you, how much?” Bond asked even as he started to pull his wallet out of his pocket, opening it to take the eleven euro.

“Ah, nothing. You already paid for the ticket when you made the reservation,” the woman said, smiling as she looked up at Bond, nudging the receipt towards him. “Don’t forget that your ticket is only valid for the indicated two hours and you will be expected to leave at the marked time.”

“Ah, I must have forgotten that I paid, my apologies. Thank you,” he said, putting the money back into his wallet before taking the packet from her. Mildly annoyed with Riley for not alerting him beforehand about the payment, he took the information before quietly scanning the group for any sign of Patrice. _The meeting will have already happened by now, but he’s not the end of the chain; he’s either a bystander or a profiteer, holding information either way_.

“Ladies and gentlemen! If I may have your attention please?” the guide called out to a gaggle of tourists that were watching him, Bond shifting long enough to memorize his face before tuning him out in favor of examining the brochure. Two floors, two hours and twenty rooms; Q would most likely move within tour groups, to remain concealed and avoid too many questions best left unanswered. Bond frowned when he read that the Galleria Borghese also held connections with Villa Borghese gardens, as the Cardinal Scipione Borghese originally owned the entire property upon which both museums were housed.

_He could be in either one._

“Damn,” he murmured almost to himself as he followed the group out of the entrance hall and into a small corridor, lagging behind the other visitors long enough to pull his mobile out and check the display to see if Riley had texted any more information about the meeting with Patrice. He put the phone back when he found nothing, and then entered the gallery.

He vaguely recalled the myths behind the numerous paintings and statues he saw as he walked around the ground floor clockwise, moving through the rooms surrounding the entrance hall. He’d first learned the stories of doomed lovers and jealous, vengeful gods in the stuffy rooms of Eton College, memories he wasn’t terribly fond of. The information on each placard prompted his memory as he lingered with the other tourists, a guide speaking softly through the audioreceiver to a nearby group. He feigned interest in the artworks as he discreetly searched for the mop of black hair that he recalled from the flat in Paris.

Milling university students made the task slightly difficult, as some were hunched forward and were doing their best to remain inconspicuous as they clutched sketchpads with pens or pencils. Q appeared young enough to pass himself off as one in the event that he needed to sneak out without the guides or museum security staff catching him— _he’d be past his allotted time, getting caught means forceful removal, and he wouldn’t risk a scene where someone might remember him_. Bond slowly exhaled as he glanced around the chapel without spotting anyone hiding, and decided to slip into the security offices and examine the security tapes if he couldn’t find Q before his time in the museum was up.

“Once again, as a reminder, no touching or any kind of photography,” a security officer warned as Bond moved out of the chapel into a corner room on the ground floor. He drifted towards the center of the room for a better vantage point, moving slowly away from the small tour group. He was about to approach one of the paintings in the corner under the pretense of interest when a flicker of movement caught his attention. He casually turned to approach the statue in the center of the room, head craned slightly to get a better look around the two figures without making his presence known to the other visitor.

It was Q. Despite stiff shoulders, he still calmly examined a painting, face relaxed, and wearing a slim gray vest on top of a tie and white dress shirt. He finally leaned over to pick up a tabbed folder that was resting on a bench, stuffing papers into it before turning around and looking straight at Bond, hazel eyes blinking in slight surprise. Bond merely nodded once in his direction before looking back down as though searching for the display card. He paused when he located it— _Apollo and Daphne_ , by Gian Lorenzo Bernini—and lingered, studying the description of the myth and the statue’s history. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Q check his watch, brow furrowing as he glanced around the room before he started to drift towards the nearest exit.

“What do you think?” Bond asked, Q pausing in his tracks to glance at Bond in momentary confusion before quietly gesturing to himself. Bond nodded once before he inclined towards the statue, stepping back to let Q stand closer to examine it better.

“I think that it must have been terrifying,” Q said after a moment, glancing at Bond. “You can see it in her eyes.”

Bond looked up at the statue as well, noting the transition between Daphne’s hair and the laurel leaves that became synonymous with Apollo’s name. He could see the carved desperation and hope on Daphne’s face, the moment when she realized that she was about to escape Apollo yet needed a few precious more seconds to ensure her freedom. He squinted, almost imagining the spark of terror as Apollo reached for her, but wondered if he saw hazel eyes instead of stone. “She escaped in the end, didn’t she?” he asked a moment later before he glanced at Q, who nodded with a shrug.

“She did, but not until well into the pursuit. I always wondered if she ever found out that Cupid had orchestrated the whole affair out of vengeance just because Apollo boasted about his defeat of the Python and thus being stronger than Cupid,” Q said, tucking a few of his papers back into the folder before he stepped closer to the statue. “ ‘Two arrows with opposite effects from his full quiver: one kindles love, the other dispels it. The one that kindles is golden with a sharp glistening point, the one that dispels it is blunt with lead beneath its shaft’,” he recited from memory, never once looking away from Bond.

“He hit Apollo with the gold one, and Daphne with the lead. I read the story in school,” Bond finished, looking up at the figures before turning back to Q. “Enamored with her, he chases her until she turns into the laurel tree to escape him, and he uses the laurel branch as his symbol in all of the subsequent myths.”

Q nodded, glancing up at the statue again. “And she must have been terrified before she slipped out of his grasp.” He shook his head and said, “It’s just the thought of someone with an unknown advantage chasing you without any reason or explanation, that it must be terrifying because you don’t know who they are, you don’t know how to stop them, and you don’t want to die,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. He looked up at Bond and said, “Fear and anxiety make a potent combination.”

“You seem to speak as though from experience,” Bond remarked casually, quietly noting the deep lines of worry etched around Q’s hazel eyes.

“Perhaps because I think that I’ve been brought into a fight that was never mine to begin with, and I don’t know who one of the fighters are. Consequently, I am trying to put as much distance between them and myself, although I don’t think my methods are working, especially since I think one went through my flat before I left Paris, idiot closed the door when I left it open,” Q admitted, tucking his folders underneath his arm. “Running can only get you so far before you must turn to drastic measures.”

“You shouldn’t have to resort to drastic measures, surely there is someone who can protect you,” Bond said quietly, mentally grimacing at the oversight on his part while outwardly frowning when Q shrugged with a resigned expression on his face. “Or at the very least, you should alert the local authorities, friends or family if not them,” he pointed out.

Q snorted. “I do have family in Paris, but it’s not quite that serious yet. I have measures in place to help me stay one step ahead of the other combatant once I find out who he or she is, and for whom they work,” he said, shaking his head as his hand rested on his computer bag. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fairly confident that I can do more about the problem than the local authorities. That will probably be my next project after I complete my next commission, I work as a freelance programmer,” he said, offering a hand. “My name is Q.”

“Bond, James Bond,” Bond said, accepting the hand with a firm shake and grinning when he saw Q’s eyes widen slightly in recognition of the name. “You came highly recommended, Q, my contact lauded your skills before providing a basic description and nominating you to our employer as a potential resource in our little problem,” he explained, releasing Q’s hand as Q leaned back on a foot. “I apologize for the manner in which we contacted you, it was an emergency and no one answered the phone when my contact called your flat. He got the number and a referral from a former colleague of yours...Silva, Raoul Silva I believe the name was,” he explained, watching Q’s reaction carefully.

Q hummed softly at the name. “I haven’t spoken to Silva in years. Shall we walk and talk at the same time?” he said, glancing warily at an American school group that slowly filed into the room with their tour guide. “Given Silva’s overall nature, you obviously know that this is the sort of thing that could get us arrested,” he said, glancing Bond over, eyes pointedly resting on the cut of the jacket. “And I’m sure you don’t want the authorities or museum security to know that you’re carrying a gun.”

“Ah, excellent point.” Bond followed Q into the main atrium, careful to stay close with his back angled to the numerous security officers. “If it’s all the same to you, that’s the same reason that I’d rather not discuss the job in detail in the gallery overall,” he said after a moment, pausing in front of a painting next to Q’s.

“Hmm… if you could summarize the job in as few words as possible, how would you describe it?” Q asked, glancing at Bond.

“Vital data retrieval,” Bond replied, leaning against the wall between paintings. “Discretion, of course, is a requirement, and my employers may be willing to pay a small fee to ensure as much,” he said quietly as Q feigned interest in the painting while at the same time trying to balance his oversized anorak with the folders. “Need a hand?”

“What? No, no thank you. What’s the catch, to this discretion fee? Not many employers usually offer extra payment no matter how vital the data,” Q said, finally gingerly holding the folders with his teeth before twisting slightly to pull on the anorak. Bond leaned over and caught a wayward sleeve, straightening it out to give Q a chance to find the proper hole for his arm.

“The catch is that you have to be in London, on site while working on this retrieval and possibly helping one of our IT Division chiefs,” Bond replied, glancing over Q’s shoulder to spot a security officer watching them warily. “My contact, R, happens to be one of them,” he said, turning back to Q.

He saw the spark of recognition in Q’s eyes. “Oh God, R? Is he the one who hacked into my Google account and set up the whole bloody meeting?” Q whispered, turning to Bond with a grin. “Bloody _hell_ …I haven’t spoken to him in three years, I had been wondering what happened to him. Knowing that actually clears up a few things I’d just been wondering about, such as how you even knew what I looked like. Lovely, I wouldn’t mind too much seeing him again…”

“Perhaps I could invite you to dinner tonight so that we can discuss this deal further? I know a good place that I haven’t been to yet since coming here yesterday,” Bond offered, watching as the corner of Q’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Dinner as in a business negotiation, or a date?” Q asked, still looking ahead at the painting, biting his lower lip as though to restrain a smile.

Bond smirked as he leaned forward. “No reason we can’t do both,” he murmured into Q’s ear, straightening and stepping back as Q glanced at him, a mixture of suspicion and surprise on his face. Bond gestured over his shoulder with his chin and said, “I have a car nearby, unless you have your own?”

“Ah, no, a friend is using the car that we share between us when I’m in Rome,” Q said, moving from the painting and falling into step beside Bond as the latter led the way to the entrance hall. “Out of curiosity, do you know how long ago was the loss of the data? I need to know because the longer it’s been, the harder it is to track it down. Even within one month, it may be traded, sold, downloaded, or otherwise exchanged hands at least a dozen times and still increasing the longer it’s gone. Downloads make it even more difficult to follow in terms of a digital trail because some individuals erase all electronic copies and keep it either on paper or on a memory stick, and then we lose the trail,” Q said, smiling briefly at a passing couple. “It’s all about keeping track of who had it when,” he added almost as an afterthought.

Bond almost lied. “It’s been three months since the data was stolen, we’ve been doing our damnedest to get it back but with no success as the person who stole it from us went to ground,” he explained instead, not missing Q’s minute wince. “How long do you think it would take to search for it if it’s been gone for that long?” he asked casually, trying to gauge Q’s reaction.

Q shrugged with one shoulder. “Depends on the size of the file. For that, I’d need to speak to the head of your IT division, along with the original programmer, or programmers as the case may be,” he said, glancing at Bond. “You wouldn’t happen to know who they were, would you?”

“Again, something to discuss at a later time due to the sensitive nature of the material,” Bond said, offering an apologetic smile as he waved to the receptionist before they left the museum and headed down the stone steps towards the street. “Any food allergies I should know about?” he asked, heading down the walk where he’d left the rental car.

“Shellfish is the only allergy, luckily,” Q replied as he kept close to Bond. “I’m still intrigued as to the offer itself, especially the high level of secrecy that you insist on maintaining. Not to mention what you have in mind for dinner.”

“Trust me, I won’t disappoint for sure on the latter,” Bond replied as he located his car and used the remote starter to turn the car on, Q jumping just outside of his field of vision. “But hopefully, we can see eye to eye on the former,” he said, maintaining the smile even as Q raised an eyebrow—he was definitely interested, but also cautious.

_Which means I’ll have to be careful too._


	6. Chapter 6

“I still think I’m horribly underdressed for this place.”

“The more you worry about it, the more attention you’ll draw to yourself. You look absolutely fine. In fact, I would even go as far as to say that you fit in without any issue, just keep the anorak out of sight if you’re that worried,” Bond assured Q as he pushed forward a plate of stuffed mushroom caps in an effort to distract the younger man. He’d spent twenty minutes coaxing the younger man into Fortunato al Pantheon, a restaurant near numerous embassies and consequently saw frequent appearances from celebrities and visiting dignitaries among its clientele. Q’s reservations, oddly enough, had been less about the restaurant’s reputation and more about his state of dress even though it complimented him beautifully.

_Almost as though he is truly immortal in his own right._

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did you first hear about this place? I always thought it was a well-kept secret among embassy employees,” Q said, pulling the plate closer to himself to reach for a mushroom cap. With an annoyed grunt, he moved the table candle aside after a moment to better reach the plate.

“A friend brought me here once, when I had to come to Rome for business,” Bond said, taking another mouthful of chicken fettuccini alfredo and swallowing. “My employer had tasked me with the friend’s safety, which meant that I had to stay at his side for the duration of the visit. He came here for dinner on a date, and it was a bit awkward at first but we all got along well by the end,” he said, still recalling Tanner’s pink face as he tried to make conversation with a senator’s daughter while ignoring Bond. Thankfully Chiara had been fully understanding of the situation, and started to include Bond in the conversation towards the end of the meal.

Bond still enjoyed the food, and made a point to come back every time he was in Rome.

“That must have been awkward as hell, and to think that you couldn’t leave because you were working,” Q said, grimacing as he sipped his wine. “One time, R and I were taking a break from our work with Silva, and we went to the mainland to go to the Golden Dragon Casino. He tried to flirt with one of the women who also visited at the time, but she was married, and her husband certainly noticed us. There has been only one other time since then that I lost personal belongings because I left so quickly,” Q said, laughing when Bond grinned. “And for the love of God, don’t tell R that I told you that story, I promised to keep it a secret.”

“Were you and R… ever involved?” Bond asked, keeping his voice light while ignoring the small curl of jealousy in his gut. It wouldn’t be hard at all for someone to notice Q, even if Q wasn’t paying complete attention himself. The soft glow of the restaurant highlighted what the harsh gallery lights did not; deceptively soft features with slim hands and an air of innocence and vulnerability that Bond himself did not trust, but suspected was Q’s armor in his dealings with men that could overpower him if he made an error. He forced himself to recall the Google calendar appointments, the emails, and the conversation with Patrice over the phone back at the flat, and decided that Q definitely wore his armor now, even if he didn’t know yet who exactly Bond was and who he worked for. Yet, he’d be lying if he said the knowledge diminished his interest; if anything, Bond was only more intrigued to find out more, especially about the man who sold his own clients out to Fournier.

Q hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “No, we were not involved since we worked together the entire time we saw each other. I don’t think he was interested anyway, or at least wasn’t blatant about it the way Silva was,” he said slowly, shaking his head in dismissal. “Silva really isn’t someone you want to tangle with anyway. But what about you? Do you have anyone at home?” he asked carefully, hazel eyes studying Bond.

Bond shook his head. “She’s dead,” he said curtly, thinking of Vesper.

Q winced. “Oh, I’m sorry I mentioned it, I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories,” he said even as Bond waved off the apology.

“Don’t be, it was six years ago and I’ve moved on since then,” Bond said, leaning back in his chair. He tilted his head and said, “You mentioned back at the museum that you had family back in Paris, but your accent tells me that you’re at least from somewhere in England. Am I correct?” he asked, grinning lightly when Q nodded.

“Sussex, and it’s my maternal aunt and uncle that live in Paris. I sometimes stay with them, but I have my own flat not too far from where I work. It doesn’t stop either of them from visiting though, I’ve been mistaken for a university student far too many times already,” Q said, poking at his food before taking another bite. “You?” he asked, glancing back up at Bond.

“Raised in Glencoe, but I live in London on my own. I tend to travel frequently for my job, but I’m on my own, as I have been for several years,” Bond said, watching Q snatch another mushroom cap. “Do you have many friends in Italy, or just in Rome?” he asked with mild curiosity.

“Only the one I stay with,” Q replied, leaning back to allow the waiter to reach his wineglass and refill it. “ _Grazie_ ,” he said to the waiter before turning back to Bond. “Speaking of which, may I trouble you for a ride home? I’m not particularly keen on taking a cab back to the flat this late, and you’re welcome of course to come up for a drink,” he said, sipping his wine.

“Believe me, I may just take you up on that offer,” Bond said. He arched an eyebrow in feigned surprise and said, “And did you really think I would be callous enough to leave you here? We’re on a date, remember?”

“And business negotiation,” Q reminded him, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “I still can’t fathom what would be so secret that you decide a _restaurant_ is better than a museum when normally there’s more people in the former than in the latter, and I’m kind of hoping that hearing about it will possibly distract me from everything else that I’m worried about,” he added, glancing over at the front door as though expecting someone to enter. _Which he is,_ Bond realized before adjusting his chair slightly to better see the front door from his peripheral.

“Yes, there’s more people in a restaurant, but everyone is too busy talking to eavesdrop on you,” Bond explained before taking another bite. “You know, if you’re that worried about pursuers, we can take the first flight out of Rome tomorrow morning, I can arrange for a private flig—” Bond said, jumping back in his seat slightly when Q turned sharply back to face him.

“No. Planes. I can negotiate on everything else but that. No fucking planes,” Q growled, unconsciously gripping the edge of the table. “Mr. Bond—”

“James,” Bond gently corrected, watching as Q’s knuckles whitened. “All right, no planes. I’m sorry for mentioning it, no planes. First train, then, that we can take back to Paris. Then we’ll catch the Eurostar from there to London,” he said, watching as Q glanced around the restaurant before settling down in his seat again. “Now, since my employer is still interested in you, it’s my job then to make sure you get back to London in one piece. What sort of threat would I be dealing with if I kept an eye on you during our journey north?”

Q eyed him warily. “Keep an eye on me?” he repeated, frowning slightly.

Bond shrugged. “Other than the fact that my employer would _skin_ me if harm befell you after you agreed to help us, you interest me enough to warrant my close attention,” he said with a smirk, watching the other’s face turn slightly pink before Q straightened in his seat, his color returning to normal. “Is one of these pursuers of yours the same person you spoke to earlier this afternoon, as marked on the calendar? Patrice, I think his name was?” he asked, slipping his mobile out of his pocket and pressing a few buttons before letting it sit on his knee.

Q nodded after a moment, fiddling with his napkin until he realized that it was cloth, not paper. “Patrice is the pursuer that I know about. He’s the one who originally supplied the contested list, the list that started this mess,” he said after a moment. “I decrypted the information, as Patrice requested, because he wanted the potential value in order to get as much money out of his employer as possible.” He hesitated, and then leaned closer, prompting Bond to do so as well. “When we met today, I told him that it was worthless personnel lists, that he was about to get ripped off. He was so angry that I almost called MI6 on him, they’re the latest group to request his arrest on his Interpol page.”

“Oh? Why didn’t you call them?” Bond asked.

“Because I realized that the other pursuer, the one that I don’t know about, could be a double-oh agent, especially since Patrice said that one was killed three months ago in Istanbul. I didn’t want to be caught and imprisoned as Patrice’s accomplice, and I understand that double-ohs are extremely difficult to either kill or otherwise get rid of, so frankly I didn’t want to have to worry about one following _me_ ,” Q admitted, eyes narrowing slightly at Bond, who raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a double-oh agent, are you?” he asked after a moment, reaching for the back of his chair as though preparing to push himself off and run.

 _Honest and direct, I think we’ll get along well_. “Q, I’m forty-four years old. Hardly prime agent material, although I’m flattered. I suspect though, that double-oh agents don’t usually make it that far, given the risks they deal with each time they’re sent out,” he said, gesturing to himself for emphasis.

Q nodded. “Right, sorry. It’s been a long day,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

“Do you want to hear about the offer?” Bond suggested, watching as Q paused, and then straightened in his seat. “Thought so,” he said, grinning as Q rolled his eyes. “Be forewarned, I am only here with the business proposition. You’ll have to negotiate pay with my employer.”

“Understood.” Q remained quiet as the waiter arrived to take their empty dishes away and left again before clasping his hands together. “You mentioned vital data retrieval. How vital are we talking?” he asked quietly.

“Thirty-five lives depend on the data’s retrieval,” Bond said quietly. “My employer is extremely adamant that it returns to us before it goes anywhere else. It’s an encrypted program on the drive, and two programmers worked on the encryptions before one of them took it out of London, per the employer’s decision, and headed back home to Sorrento here in Italy, the policy being ‘out of sight, out of mind’,” he explained, watching Q’s eyes carefully for any spark of recognition. “Unfortunately, the programmer who took the list to Italy, Francesco Salvaggi, was assassinated three months ago, a sniper shot to the head. My employer sent a team of four to retrieve the data, but an independent mercenary intercepted them, killing all four before making off with the data.”

“And you want me to follow the digital trail to figure out where this mercenary is?” Q asked, nodding when Bond inclined his head once. “I see. Well, if I can speak to the surviving programmer, I can see what I can do,” he suggested as the waiter arrived with the bill, placing it in Bond’s outstretched hand.

“As for the surviving programmer, he also happens to be the IT division chief, so you can talk to him for whatever it is you may need,” Bond said, slipping his card into the bill before handing it back to the waiter. “My only warning is that he was targeted recently as well, and was in the hospital last I saw.”

Q nodded. “Do you know who targeted him?” he asked carefully.

“We suspect the associate of the sniper who killed Salvaggi,” Bond replied as the waiter took the bill again before leaving. “My employer believes that he may be the one after the data,” he added, leaning back in his chair and resting his hand on his knee. He quirked a small grin before he said, “Still feeling up to the task?”

“What? Of course, I just need to negotiate with your employer in terms of pay, but I can definitely do that,” Q said when the waiter returned and set the card and receipt down near Bond. “Thank you, for dinner,” he said, looking up at Bond as Bond signed the receipt before putting the card away.

“You’re welcome,” he said, lips twitching into a half-smile as he pressed another button on his mobile and slipped it into his pocket before standing up. “Let’s go, shall we? Don’t want to keep you up past your bedtime,” he teased, easily blocking Q’s half-hearted smack to the shoulder.

“Idiot.”

After they gathered their coats and Q’s computer bag, Q followed Bond to the car, easily sliding into the passenger seat as Bond started the vehicle. He buckled himself in as Bond pulled out of the car park and slipped into the evening traffic. Bond glanced at him, trying not to tap his fingers on the wheel, as Q remained silent for the first few minutes. Right when he was about to ask a question to prod Q out of silence, Q indicated for him to turn left before he said, “I may have done something rather stupid before I even met with Patrice today.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you mean?” he said, stopping at the light. “Did you try to kill him?” he asked when the light turned green and he began moving again, turning right a few blocks down.

“Not quite, I probably indirectly killed him, when his employer finds out that he went to an external freelancer for extra help without permission. It’s the first building on the block, the car park is the second entrance on the right,” Q replied, holding onto his door as Bond maneuvered the car into the car park and into the last available parking slot. He hesitated, and then admitted, “It has to do with the earlier contested list, that I mentioned in the restaurant,” as Bond turned the car off and the two of them got out, Bond wrapping his jacket tighter around himself against the evening chill. He could hear traffic and a few dogs barking as he let Q lead the way to the building entrance.

Bond held back from asking his next question as Q waved a magnet in front of the reader, and the doors noiselessly slid open. “What could be so bad, aside from attempted murder and a few other crimes, that you would be worried about a hand-off? Usually mercenaries leave after the hand-off is complete to get paid and move onto the next job,” he said as they walked towards the lifts.

Q hesitated as he pressed the button for the lift, the doors sliding open almost immediately. “I, um, switched the data on him. I gave him a blank drive that looked similar to the one he gave me, and kept the one he gave me. Fair warning, he may come after me because of it,” he said as he held the doors open for Bond and pressed a 7 and then the ‘Doors Close’ button. He hesitated, and then said, “I have very good reasons to hold onto it right now, so I’d advise against trying to take it.”

Bond snorted, surprising even himself. “No threat here,” he remarked as he leaned against the wall, the lift jerking once before starting its ascent.

Q grinned. “I know. Clever, but at the same time most likely fatal for me and him,” he said as the lift began to climb. “Now, about drink preferences….”

“Depends. What do you have, and what are you willing to offer?” Bond replied with a casual smile, glancing at Q as the lift came to a gentle stop. _If he still has the list, then I still have a chance, I just need a few hours…_

Q rolled his eyes as the doors opened. “Even if I was interested in something in addition to drinks, which tonight I’m not, we can’t do it here. The walls are too thin, and Luca will kill me in the morning,” he said, stepping off the lift, Bond close behind him.

“Will he mind that you’re bringing someone home?” Bond asked as he followed Q down a dimly lit hall to a decaying brown door.

“What he doesn’t know until it’s too late won’t hurt him. On one hand, he hates having unannounced visitors, but that’s only because he hates strangers seeing him in his pajamas,” Q said, pulling out a key and attacking the lock with it. “If we have drinks in my area of the flat, and are very quiet, we’ll be fine. He’s a light sleeper and a nightmare to deal with when he’s woken up,” he warned before they heard the faint _click_ of a lock sliding out of place.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bond said, wincing at the _creeeaaak_ of rusty hinges.

The flat that Q shared with his friend, Luca, was bigger than Bond envisioned, almost as though two smaller flats had been combined and left as one with dual identical sets of furniture mostly stashed in the shared common room, overlooking Rome. Q tossed his jacket onto the nearest armchair before walking over to one of the doors, gesturing for Bond to follow him. “Luca did major renovations to the place when he inherited the flat next door to his own. The building managers still don’t really know about it since Luca never has resident visitors that can report back. And what visitors he _does_ have are only grateful to have their own space so they never say anything,” he explained as he unlocked the door and ushered Bond through.

“It’s a good system,” Bond remarked as he scanned Q’s space, noting that the same dark wood was present in both rooms as well as the same carpeting, recalling Q’s story about the split flats.

“Yes, I think it also helps that the visitors don’t usually overstay their welcome,” Q said, closing the door and heading down the hall as Bond scanned the messy living room. “Oh, and make yourself comfortable, don’t wait for me!” Q called before opening a cupboard as Bond settled on a chaise lounge. “And don’t worry if you hear movement in the other room, it’s probably just Luca looking to get something to eat,” he said, returning with two wine glasses that he set on the glass coffee table before heading back for the wine.

“Any pets at home?” Bond asked, noting the lack of animal presence in the room save for the old stuffed mouse lying in the corner underneath one of the large windows.

“I wish, but no. I’m traveling too much for a cat, even though I want one. My mother has this picky calico that she named Missy, which makes it easier to scold her for something or another since she’s always about to break something when you’re not looking,” Q said, opening a half-full bottle of Scotch. “Hope you don’t mind this.”

“Not at all,” Bond said as Q poured the glasses, setting the bottle aside before sitting down on the edge of the chaise lounge. He raised his glass and said, “To a new working partnership?”

Q arched a brow as he raised his glass. “To the current partnership, and hopefully… long-term relationships afterwards,” he said before leaning forward to clink his glass against Bond’s, lips curved into a soft smile before he looked away to the glass.

Bond nodded in silent agreement before taking a drink, blue eyes never leaving Q as he watched the younger man for a moment, carefully studying his face before looking elsewhere when he unwittingly thought of another place he’d rather have those lips. Shaking his head, he took a healthy swallow of the Scotch, attempting to burn it from his memory altogether.

 _Fucking hell_.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Help!”_

Bond jerked out of sleep and snatched the Walther he’d hidden underneath the pillow last night after settling down, Q’s scream still ringing in his ears as he rolled off the lounge, landing in a crouch and assessing the sun-lit small living room before realizing that the threat was elsewhere. Clad only in the trousers he wore yesterday and slightly disoriented, he dimly recalled coming up to the flat for drinks, only staying the night when he’d drank too much to drive without Q fearing for his safety. Moving swiftly despite the small headache, he reached Q’s bedroom door right as he heard a loud _thump_ on the other side, an unexpected gunshot following soon after. Bond moved to the side seconds before he heard the dull _thud_ of a bullet hitting wood, and then Bond fired at the doorknob and lock before kicking the door open.

He looked up in time to see Patrice turn from where he’d been towering over Q, who was half-hidden underneath his bedcovers, and aim again for Bond’s head and fire. As Bond dropped to avoid the bullet, he saw Patrice turn back to Q, who attempted to wiggle free from underneath the blankets as the momentary relief at seeing Bond dissolved into terror again. Q only succeeded in upsetting the assassin’s balance enough so that Patrice dropped the gun in an effort to balance himself, and the weapon made a dull _thunk_ against the wood floor before it skittered away towards Bond. Bond lunged for the gun, fingers wrapping around the handgrip right as Patrice belatedly leapt for it, twisting at the last minute to avoid colliding into Bond. Rolling back to his feet, Bond snarled softly as he switched the safety off and pointed both guns at Patrice, who froze at the sight before him.

“Stand up!” Bond snapped, never once looking away as he walked slowly around Patrice, putting himself between Patrice and Q. Patrice hesitated, but then finally moved when Bond calmly pulled the hammers back and rested his fingers on the triggers. He appeared slightly thinner and older than Bond remembered, with deeper stress lines that only became more pronounced when he calmly clasped his hands behind the back of his neck. Bond watched him for a moment, acknowledging that spark of recognition in Patrice’s eyes for what it was. _Good, now we know each other. If you thought a fall from a train bridge would slow me down, then your informant was grossly wrong_. “Q, get out of here. Now,” he said without turning around. He heard the bed creak a few seconds later, blankets rustling as Q scrambled to grab the duvet and wrap himself up in it before sliding off the bed and scooting out of the room, trying to remain as far from Patrice as possible. Bond never took the guns off Patrice, tilting one slightly to distract Patrice from watching Q.

Patrice narrowed his eyes at Bond once the door had clicked shut behind Q. “You fucking _survived,_ I should have gone after your body to make sure you were dead,” he spat, hands dropping to his side as tension ran through his arms and shoulders.

“You’d be surprised at how often I hear my enemies say that right before they die,” Bond calmly replied before firing at Patrice.

The mercenary dove in that moment, silver flashing as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and aimed for Bond’s feet. Bond sidestepped to the left only to stumble when Patrice grasped an ankle at the last minute and _yanked_ on it, finally sending Bond off-balance and tumbling to the floor. One gun—Bond didn’t know which—tumbled out of his hand and slid across the floor and underneath one of the bureaus. Bond curled forward and smacked heads with Patrice, who had moved to climb on top of Bond to strangle him while the agent was still down. Patrice jerked back after the collision, clutching his head with his free hand, but still brought the knife up again to stab Bond in the shoulder. Bond reached up and caught the wrist, pushing it backwards to the point where Patrice abruptly dropped the knife to better retreat. He ended up falling onto his back, curling slightly with a groan.

“Who is your employer?” Bond snarled, moving forward and placing his knee on Patrice’s chest before the latter could move.

Patrice spat in his face instead of replying.

Bond flinched, barely suppressing the instinctive urge to jerk back, but Patrice still took advantage of the movement to twist his body, propelling himself with an elbow against the floor. Bond moved to avoid getting trapped, rolling to the side even as he tried to hook a foot around Patrice’s calf to force him away from the door. Patrice rolled into a crouch with the knife in hand, and attempted to stab him again, but Bond raised his arm in time to block the force of the blow. He gritted his teeth when he felt the vibrations from the impact reverberating through his bones to his still-healing bullet injury, but stubbornly didn’t budge when he felt Patrice beginning to apply pressure.

Then he tried wrapping his own wrist around Patrice’s to get a better grip.

Patrice spotted Bond’s ploy a moment too soon and immediately retracted his arm, choosing instead to retreat before attempting to leap over Bond towards the bed. With a low snarl, Bond twisted, caught Patrice’s ankle, and _pulled_ , sending the mercenary back to the ground and sliding across the bedroom floor until his head connected with the bureau. Several knickknacks on top of the bureau wobbled before settling down as Bond rolled in between Patrice and the bedroom door, pulling out the remaining gun and firing several shots. Patrice grunted when one bullet made contact with his shoulder, but somehow managed to scramble away before the next two could hit him.

Bond’s only warning to a new yet imminent threat was a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Then he raised an arm to shield his eyes as the first few rows of knickknacks finally fell off the bureau, a spray of innumerable glass and ceramic shards shooting up into the air after impact. Bond heard a faint tinkle of music through the crash— _music box_ —and only waited until the tinkling had subsided and looked down at the carnage on the floor. A carpet of glitter and glass covered the wood floor, and he saw the remains of what used to be a glossy box that now had a metal attachment— _the music_ —sitting a few inches away from a snapped lid.

It only took him a second to spot the hard drive.

_The list._

The top half of the device was sticking out between the broken pieces of the lid, and the leather cord wound out from underneath the intact wall. Both the drive and cord nearly blended in with the floor, but Bond still sprang for the device as soon as he recognized it, using his body to knock Patrice to the side and send him back into the bureau, causing more knickknacks to fall. He closed his fingers around the device and began to scramble to his feet and towards the door when he felt a cold barrel pressed against the back of his skull.

“All right then, drop the data. Now,” Patrice whispered as he switched the safety off. “Just give it to me, and I’ll make your death quick.”

“No, you put _your_ gun down now,” Q growled from the open doorway, startling Bond when he saw Q had a pistol raised and aimed at Patrice’s head. “Put the fucking gun down now and back off or I _will_ call the police and charge you for theft, assault, breaking and entering, and attempted murder,” he snapped, switching the safety off as he took another step into the room, resting a finger on the trigger.

 _Christ, I hope he knows how to use that thing,_ Bond thought as Patrice remained still, watching Q. Then, very slowly, Bond felt the pressure on the back of his skull ease and he turned to find Patrice slowly raising his hands, the gun clattering to the ground a moment later. A flicker of movement, and Bond restrained himself from reacting as Q moved around him, standing between him and Patrice.

“Now move to the bed,” he ordered, not looking away as Patrice obeyed. He glanced at Bond and asked quietly, “Are you all right? Can you get up or do you need help?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Bond growled, pride bristling slightly at the offer as he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the aches from his forearms and various other parts of his body that had made contact with the floor. Keeping a firm grip on the hard drive, he dusted off his sleeves before he said, “Q, leave. I’ll take care of Patrice, I don’t want you to get—”

“No. I’m keeping him here until the police arrive, Luca is calling them now,” Q said without looking away from Patrice. “Just wait outside until they arrive, and hide the device as best you can.”

“Very well,” he said before turning to the door to leave, starting to pocket the drive.

Bond had perhaps two seconds to tilt his body to protect himself from Patrice’s knife, Q yelping as he was shoved aside and collided with the edge of the bed. Bond grunted when Patrice drove the knife handle straight down on his bad shoulder, jarring the still healing wound from Eve’s bullet. He almost pinpointed the exact moment that he accidentally dropped the hard drive to place a reflexive hand on the injury to apply pressure. He saw Patrice catching it as it fell, and, ignoring Q’s cry of dismay, Bond twisted around and pursued Patrice to the only window in the room. Patrice clambered out with ease, as though he knew the construction well, and dropped from the sill right as Bond tried to snatch a hand. He looked over the edge in time to see Patrice land on the fire escape with a _clang_ before using a shoulder roll to get closer to the steps. Bond started to climb out himself when he became aware of surprisingly firm hands pulling on his left arm and shoulder. He fought at first, still trying to climb out, but became gradually aware of the speaker’s words behind him.

“James, James, no, please no,” Q was saying when Bond turned slightly to acknowledge him. “James, _no_ , damn it, he’s not worth chasing!” he half-shouted as Bond finally allowed him to tug him back into the room. Bond grunted as he tried to break free of Q’s grip for one last ditch attempt, but ended up falling back onto the bed with the younger man on top of him. “Damn it James, you’ll only end up falling out of the fucking window and breaking your stupid neck!” he shouted, an edge of desperation audible in his voice even as the two of them struggled against each other, Bond finally giving in when Q moved to straddle him, effectively pinning Bond down. “James, there’s another way to do this!” he snapped, leaning forward to press his hands down on Bond’s shoulders.

“But he just got away with something!” Bond growled, nearly nose-to-nose with Q. “That hard drive, the one in the music box—”

“ _Yes, I know_!” Q took several deep breaths to calm himself down before he leaned down, nearly touching noses with Bond. “I don't care that Patrice took the hard drive, hell, I  _wanted_  him to fucking take it!” he said in a controlled voice, hazel eyes boring into Bond’s own.

Bond raised an eyebrow even as his hands slowly ghosted up and down Q’s partially covered arms. “And why, pray tell, did you want him to take it?” he whispered, resting his grip on Q’s upper arms, making an extra effort not to squeeze.

Q smirked before he leaned down and whispered, “Because he thinks he has the data he wants, the data that I didn’t give him yesterday. Remember? So while he explores the hard drive or better yet, gives it to his employer, we have the chance to get the upper hand and get the hell out of here before he discovers the viruses and other malware that is actually stored on that hard drive.”

Bond stared at Q for a few seconds, breathing heavily as he slowly reached up and very carefully brushed aside some of the mussed dark hair. “You are my mad little genius,” he whispered, the urge to laugh bubbling in his chest even as he slowly cupped the back of Q's neck and gently pulled him down for a slow, deep kiss, fingers curling into the thick dark strands and pressing Q closer while holding him still. He groaned when he felt Q lower himself to lie down on top of him, hands curling against his shoulders as he became aware of the thin layer of pajamas and trousers between them. His hands began to wander, hovering around the hem of Q’s shirt.

He slowly exhaled when Q finally pulled back, soft lips slightly swollen and hazel eyes bright. “Bloody hell” he whispered, ear tips reddening a bit. He seemed to reach for Bond again, hesitated, and then pulled back. “As much as I would love to continue this, we only have so much time before Patrice discovers the ruse and then comes after us. I’d like to get to London alive and in one piece, and I’m still not taking a plane.” With a groan, he moved off of Bond and gingerly picked his way across the floor, Bond rolling onto his side to watch Q.

“I know.” Bond propped himself up on an elbow before he forced himself to calm down, hoping to appear casual as he asked, “Where is the data then, if Patrice doesn’t have it?”

Q grinned as he gingerly stepped around the debris before stretching for the top drawer. “That’s a secret,” he said as an unfamiliar man appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up at odd angles and wearing loose-fitting pajamas. Bond immediately reached for the gun and aimed it when Q jumped. “Wait! James, that’s only Luca,” he said, wincing when he started to step forward, only to stop because of a broken ceramic angel. “Luca, that’s James, the bodyguard I was telling you about a few minutes ago,” he said, going back to the bureau when Bond slowly lowered the gun again.

“No fucking kidding.” Luca eyed Bond before he turned back to Q. “I called the police and told him that the burglar was now running on the streets, gave them the description that you had provided. Said nothing was stolen, should I call them back and correct that assumption?” he said, glancing at the numerous bullet holes in his room with a grimace. “Or maybe not.”

“No, no, we’ll be leaving today anyway,” Q said, glancing around at the damage. “Er, I’ll pay for repairs and replacements, just send me the bill—”

“No, send me the bill. I was the one who did the shooting,” Bond interrupted, getting off the bed and carefully navigating his way around the debris. He shooed Luca out of the room, but paused at the door, and then said, “Q?”

“Yes?”

“Bodyguard?”

“Well, you’re here, and you did say that would escort me back to London. Ergo, you are my bodyguard,” Q said with an innocent look on his face.

“We’ll need to stop at my hotel so I can gather my things before leaving Rome, and then I’ll call my friend in London who can provide a safe place to stay. If you also need to do anything before we leave, be prepared to make quick stops,” Bond warned as he scanned the floor for some sign of his gun, which he couldn’t remember dropping in the fight. “If you see my gun, or at least _a_ gun in here, please give it to me immediately,” he said after a moment, even as Q raised an eyebrow.

“Hang on.” Q knelt and reached underneath the bureau to pull out a familiar Walther. “Saw it when I was getting off the bed, wasn’t entirely sure if it was yours to begin with,” he said, handing it over to Bond, who switched the safety back on. “I wonder…you know how some homes have biometric security systems? I sometimes wonder if it’s possible to integrate something like that onto the handgrip, so that it responds only to the owner,” he said, watching Bond turn the gun over in his hands. “With all due respect, it looks like you could use something similar to that.”

“If you do find a way to do that, please let me know. I can think of at least five incidents when that could have been helpful,” Bond said as he turned to leave the room.

“You’ll be the first to know, trust me. I do need my bodyguard intact, after all,” Q said, offering a secretive little smile when Bond glanced back over his shoulder.

It took Bond an oddly long time to realize that he was smiling himself.


	8. Chapter 8

“James, wait a moment, I need to fix something.”

“Here, fix it when we get off the train,” Bond said, turning around to help Q off the train, the computer bag nearly upsetting Q’s landing when he tried to step down onto the platform. Bond put a casual arm around Q’s waist, scanning the thick crowds in the crowded train station in Milan as he moved his duffel bag to his other side to not bother Q. The envelope he’d picked up right before the two of them left Rome—Q had had something to take care of in the British embassy, where Bond ran into one of Tanner’s connections—burned in the interior breast pocket of his jacket as he guided Q through the crowds across the platform to the screens with the departures and arrivals. “How long do we have to wait until we leave for Paris?” he asked, turning to Q.

“Two hours. We have enough time to get something small to eat, especially since we just ate on the last train, so I would recommend staying close to the station,” Q said, glancing around the platform behind him before his grip on the computer bag tightened. “I honestly wish I remembered if Patrice had associates or not, he always appeared alone but when he came to my flat, he sometimes acted as though he had a follower or two at his disposal,” he said, tugging Bond to a nearby bench. “The zip is jammed, I need to fix it before we go anywhere.”

“I would suggest moving from Paris once this all blows over, especially if Patrice already knows where you live. Anyone could hack or steal the building registry to look at the names of residents, and match up the number of the flat with the resident. Then from there, it’s only a matter of identifying family and friends, all of which Patrice can use against you. Which he’ll most likely do when he finds out that you’ve duped him for the second time,” Bond warned as Q pulled a bit of cloth out of the zip.

“Well, not all of us can afford to move at the drop of a hat,” Q said quietly as he zipped his bag up again and stood up and left the platforms, heading straight for the main entrance as Bond jogged to catch up with him. “Where do you want to go for snacks?”

“I’ll trust your judgment in that regard, I think you may know the area better than I can ever hope to,” Bond replied, remaining close to Q’s side.

“You’ve never been to Milan before?” Q asked, turning to him in surprise.

“No, the farthest north I’ve ever been was Venice, and that trip didn’t end very well,” Bond said, quickly scanning the people entering the station and those scattered on the steps leading to the Milano Centrale Railway Station.

Q nodded once in reply. “Well, we’ll have to fix that now, won’t we?” he said with a smile as he bumped into Bond to nudge him in the left direction. “We can come back to the station once we get food, I know of a nice café that’s within walking distance. I used to come up here more frequently before getting confined behind a desk as a clerk, so maybe a year or so ago,” he said, heading down the steps towards a small crosswalk. “Does your employer allow for vacations?”

“Yes, but I don’t usually bother. I travel enough as it is for work, so I consider staying home in London a well-earned vacation that works for about five days at most,” Bond said as they crossed the street, glancing across the main road and found only visitors or strolling couples. “I wouldn’t mind coming back to Milan, or Italy for that matter, if it’s with the right travel companion,” he said, nudging Q with an elbow.

“It would have to be next year, then. In the middle of autumn, it’s not exactly a heavy tourism season and I’m more likely to get time off then. We’d need at least a week here, there’s so much to see.” He pointed in one direction, and Bond squinted to get a better look at what Q was pointing to. “See the tops of those spires? That’s the Milan Cathedral, inside there is a golden statue of the Lady Mary who protects the city from plague and famine. Definitely a place to go when there aren’t many tourists around,” he said as he dug his hands into his pockets.

“Work at a tourist agency, then?” Bond teased.

“Ha, ha, no. But close enough…an embassy,” he admitted, looking over his shoulder before moving forward again, albeit slower than before. He hesitated, and then Bond saw his shoulders sink. “I think I have too much of a bloody conscience for this job, I pick and choose what I want to do regardless of the personal risks and what my clients want,” he whispered, adjusting his computer bag strap. “Makes me miss living the civilian life sometimes, but I have to get the list back to its original owner before I can retreat myself,” he added, swallowing with a frown. “Do you know who the British programmer was, and if I can get to him without MI6 interference?”

“Probably not, I don’t know what kind of security he has surrounding him at the moment,” Bond said, mentally cursing himself a moment later for the slip. “What exactly is it that you’re hiding from both MI6 and Patrice? I’m beginning to wonder how damning a personnel list can really be,” he said as Q paused his tracks, shoulders hunched forward almost as though deciding not to answer. He looked away, and Bond felt a slight twinge of guilt for causing distress. “Q, it might help me understand better what to expect in terms of persistence from your pursuers,” he said carefully and quietly, watching Q’s face for any sign that he was pushing too far.

Q hesitated, and then glanced at the storefront. “I don’t know, James. This is just a job for you, I don’t want to put you at risk for the rest of your life because of one job,” he said, closing his eyes briefly.

Bond rested a hand on his shoulder. “Q, you shouldn’t have to live in fear of something out of your control,” he said quietly, leaning forward as Q looked at him. “Help me understand, so that I can help you better. And yes, this may be a job, but I’m at risk every day. One more risk isn’t going to kill me,” he said, resting a cold hand Q’s shoulder, feeling the warmth underneath.

Q remained silent for a few more minutes, looking between at the train station and Bond. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” he said, looking at Bond. “But after we make our stop here, I don’t want Demetrio to be harmed either, he doesn’t deserve to get tangled into this as well,” he said before reaching for the door. “That way he can plead innocent if anyone asks,” he said before pushing the door open.

Bond made it several feet inside before he stopped at the abrupt swirl of sweet and warm scents, blinking as he stepped aside to let Q walk down an aisle between the mass of chairs and tables, only one or two currently occupied, towards the counter that was attached to a glass display of pastries on one side, and an array of gelato options on the other side of the register.  Leaning on the counter, Q stood on tiptoes and looked behind the counter before he looked up towards the kitchens. “Demetrio! Dove sei?” he called out, resting back on his feet as he craned his head to get a better look inside the kitchens. Bond rubbed his hands to warm up faster even as his cheeks burned slightly.

Bond flinched at the _thunk_ to his right and behind the counter, but lowered his hand away from his gun when an old man appeared from below the counter, peering at Q for a moment before he grinned. “Ah, _buongiorno_ Q _!_   Come stai?” he said before his attention shifted to Bond. “Lui è il tuo novio o amico?” he asked, grinning when Q flushed scarlet.

“Sto bene, grazie. Lui è mio amico, si chiama James,” Q said before turning to Bond, who arranged a puzzled expression on his face for the sake of sparing Q further embarrassment. “He asked if you were my boyfriend or my friend. My mother would have never believed the latter option, she’s so desperate to see me with someone that I usually pretend for her sake and make it easier for the two of us,” he muttered before nodding to the case as Demetrio began pulling out trays of pastries and set them out on the counter. “Any allergies I should know about?” he asked, already focused on the biscuits instead of Bond.

“Nope.”

Bond moved away, letting Q chatter with his friend in privacy and examined the gelato in their glass case; Q and Demetrio had moved over to the pastry cases, speaking in rapid Italian that Bond had no problem following. He half-listened to the discussion about the flow of business and other Milanese news that Q evidently found interesting. Finally tuning Q out, he silently acknowledged that he was fast running out of time to determine Q’s guilt in the theft of the data; either option had a different outcome once they arrived to London. _Why collect information on paying clients, an income source, only to use it to turn them into authorities?_ he mused, turning his attention to the numerous items on the wire shelves below the display case

“James?”

He looked up to find Q watching him. “Do you want anything?” Q repeated, scowling when Demetrio muttered something under his breath.

“Just this,” Bond said, pulling out a water bottle and setting it on the counter next to the register. He started to reach for his wallet when Q placed a hand on his wrist.

“My turn, you covered lunch after I covered breakfast this morning,” Q said, half-smiling as he pulled his own wallet out and passed a few Euro across the table. Bond waited just behind him, nodding once to Demetrio as Q finished his transaction and grabbed the two paper bags. “Ciao!” he said while walking backwards before turning around and leaving the café.

“Does the rule of not eating much only extend to entrées?” Bond asked as he followed Q to the nearest crosswalk stretching across the main road to the park that Bond had noticed earlier when they’d approached the café.

“I rarely get to come here, so shush,” Q said as the light turned red. Bond waited until they were crossing the road before he tickled Q’s rib once, stealing one of the two paper bags when Q squawked in alarm and accidentally dropped it. “You did that on purpose!” he accused Bond as the agent opened the bag and took a few biscuits out.

“I was hungry,” Bond replied as the two of them headed up a small path that led into the park, letting Q take the lead while raising the bag so the younger man couldn’t reach it. He smirked when Q flipped him off, but set his duffel down on the ground before he sat next to Q on the bench. He scooted over to allow Q room to wedge the computer bag between the two of them. Despite the scrunch of discomfort on Q’s face, he didn’t take the backpack off. Bond took a few more biscuits before handing the bag over.

“Thank you.” He set the second bag down on the ground before opening the first. Taking a few biscuits out, he rolled the top again and set it down on the bench on his other side. He settled down, and Bond slowly exhaled, scanning the park as he listened to numerous conversations from people returning home for supper.

“If you don’t mind…” Q said after a moment, reclaiming Bond’s attention. “I’d like to stop at my flat in Paris before we go to London, there’s something I want to get for the job at hand,” he said, turning to Bond. “I won’t work with your employers otherwise.”

Bond breathed in and out, flattening his impatience. “Very well, what is it?” he asked, turning slightly to face Q.

“A memory stick where I keep track of all my clients, and the work that I do for them. It makes a good reference since I do come across problems that I’ve solved before, and can adapt repair methods to suit the current client’s needs,” he explained before taking another bite. Reaching over, he passed the bag to Bond’s hands and swallowed before he said, “Normally, I _would_ have it, but given that I didn’t anticipate gaining a surprise client on my delivery trip to Rome, I left it at home. There’s something else that I’ll have to take care of, but I can do that later via email.”

“Anything else we may have to take care of, other than MI6?” Bond asked, leaning back in his chair.

Q hesitated, and then looked down, fiddling with the biscuits for a few minutes before he took another bite. He swallowed, and then said, “Definitely MI6. Oh, and MI5, also, they’ll be the only other problem. We didn’t exactly part on good terms the last time I was in the city,” he said, wincing at the memory.

“Five is easy to avoid. They’re always wearing their uniforms when they venture out during the day because nine times out of ten, they’re working when you see them,” Bond said, recalling how M occasionally turned the other way when off-duty MI6 personnel ‘prodded’ on-duty MI5 officers. “Six is the difficult one to spot, though, since most of the time their agents are off-duty if they’re in London, and don’t wear uniforms. That doesn’t stop them if they see a wanted target.” He glanced at Q and said, “Are you absolutely sure that they’re hunting you down?”

“No. But I want to be prepared in case. The hard drive—” Q stopped speaking, and then sighed, pulling off his glasses with one hand as he reached for the computer bag with the other, pulling out small packet. “The hard drive, they might want it, and I can’t imagine that with their vast resources, they’ll take long to find it. And me,” he said as he cleaned his lenses with the small rectangle of cloth. “The hard drive, I wish it had nuclear launch codes, it would be so much simpler if that was the case.” He glanced at James and said, “The drive has a list of names.”

“Names?” Bond repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Anywhere from seventy to a hundred and five, it was one hell of a list,” Q said, making a face at the thought as he replaced his glasses. “All were attached to various criminal organizations around the world, but only the first thirty-five had database entries attached to their names. A mini-profile, if you will,” he said, twisting his body on the bench to sit facing Bond. “I did some research, and found that those thirty-five also have former connections to numerous federal agencies.” He frowned, and then said, “I couldn’t finish decrypting all the names or any of the database entries, the security on that program was extremely complex and I ran out of time before my prepared rendezvous with Patrice. I had to encrypt everything again, just in case I lost it.”

“So why continue to hold onto it?” Bond asked carefully.

“Because it turns out the individuals are traitors, MI6 will hunt them down, injuring and killing innocent bystanders in the process. Granted, they do try to minimize the collateral damage in the beginning, but once the target runs, it’s chaos. I want to prevent that as much of that as possible, no one should die just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Q said, lowering his voice when a few people walked by their bench.

Bond remained silent for a moment, well aware of what Q was talking about. “And Patrice?” he prompted at last.

Q hesitated, frowning as he thought for a moment. “Because if it turns out that those people are actually undercover agents, working _for_ their respective governments, then Patrice’s employer might try to use them as blackmail against their governments or worse, expose them to the criminal leaders who would execute them,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a programmer, I try not to get involved in the clients’ politics, but I draw the line when it comes threatening innocent people. I’m not doing this because of money or alliances, I just wanted the extra challenge involved.”

“And how far are you willing to go to protect that data?” Bond asked, leaning back in his seat as he quietly regarded Q. He could see faint circles under the other’s eyes, a slight tremor in his hands, stiff spine despite sagging shoulders, and the embedded stress lines in his face.

“As far as I have to,” Q replied in a steady voice, never looking away.

“And I will go as far as I have to in order to keep you safe,” Bond said quietly, seeing the tension slowly draining away in Q’s shoulders. He checked his watch as Q repositioned himself on the bench, and then said, “We should go soon, they’ll start boarding in five minutes if it’s the same procedure as back in Rome.”

 _“Fuck_ , really?” Q shot from his seat, nearly tripping over his backpack as he tried to turn around and gather his belongings. “Uh, can you take the biscuits? That’s for the upcoming train, I can only tolerate their cooking to a certain point before I fake being ill just to get out of it,” he said as he picked up the backpack and slipped it on before reaching for the computer bag, slinging it across his shoulder.

“I just learned not to complain, it’s better than some of the things I’ve eaten over the years,” Bond said, making a face as he slipped the duffel strap over his shoulder. He fell in step with Q as the two of them walked briskly to the crosswalk, and then as they waited for the light, he asked, “Question.”

“Yes?”

“Once in London, I’d be open to another date to the National Gallery, followed by dinner,” Bond offered, smirking at the little half-smile on Q’s face. “Or we could do something entirely different, since you haven’t been to London in a while. My employer won’t keep you busy all day and night.”

“Tell you what, I’ll give you my answer once I see the workload,” Q said as they crossed the street. “It’s been three years since I’ve left London, and it might be a bit dodgy going back, but I’m actually looking forward to it,” he said after a moment, smiling softly as they climbed the station steps. He turned to James and said, “Perhaps, if I could, I’d also like to—”

Bond frowned when Q fell silent, but realized that Q was looking over his shoulder. He turned around, pausing when he spotted the brunette woman standing at the crosswalk, dark eyes studying the two of them. Then without a word or gesture, she turned and crossed the street, gray calf-length coat swirling around with a bit of red dress showing at the hem. He turned back to Q to see that the other man hadn’t looked away.

“Q, I’m not letting you get hurt,” he said quietly.

Q nodded, still uneasy, but followed Bond’s example as Bond nudged him back to the station.


	9. Chapter 9

_An MI6 agent will be onboard the 20:00 Euro Railway from Milan to Paris to deliver critical information regarding the mission and will assist with any arrests or acts of resistance. Change in orders: lethal force is forbidden as M wishes to have the boy alive and well when he arrives to London, even if he does not have the data in question. He may know with whom the line ends._

_-Riley_

“Fucking hackers,” Bond muttered under his breath as he folded the letter and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. Reaching for the second vodka martini he’d requested almost thirty minutes after he finished the first about two hours ago, he wondered if Q, who was resting in their shared compartment, would be willing to strengthen his laptop security. He wasn’t stupid, and neither was Riley, who would have received a receipt for two Euro Railway tickets to Paris. He only applauded the speed at which MI6 managed to get an agent onboard the same train with the very small window that he’d given them.

He tilted his head when he heard familiar footsteps against the carpet, and looked up as Q slid into the seat across the small table from him. “Someone in reservations screwed up, they put us into a compartment with a double bed,” he said, face reddening for a moment as he shook his head and then glanced around for a server.

“Imagine that,” Bond murmured, sipping his drink as he steeled himself not to flinch at the sight before him. For a split second, he saw Vesper in Q’s place, holding secrets of her own before they had descended into the disguised hell that was Casino Royale. He still remembered the light kisses on his fingertips as her life slipped through them, that she earned a quiet footnote in her file of treason against the Crown before M put the file away. _But Q is her opposite, he told the truth in the park,_ he mused, recalling his hesitation to shoot Q when he had the best chance. The ill feeling in his gut had subsided at some point right before or after Milan, and only twisted at the thought of Q’s impending fate.

M would only accuse him of impaired judgment. She was probably right. _Look at what happened to Vesper._

_I won’t make the same mistake twice._

“If it makes you more comfortable,” Bond began, catching Q’s attention, “I’ll sleep in a chair or something, I’ve slept in worse places,” he said, nodding once in Q’s direction.

“It’s all right, I think we’re both mature enough to handle sleeping in one bed,” Q said, tilting his head at Bond. “Unless you have…objections to that sort of arrangement?”

Bond shook his head before raising his hands. “I promise that I will keep my hands to myself,” he said, mouth twitching when Q raised an eyebrow.

“That’s good to know, but I really wouldn’t object to at least one kiss before then,” Q said, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the table. “And I should warn you, I tend to stay up late, working on code or something or other on the laptop. So if blue light bothers you, you may not want me in the bed after all,” he said, watching as Bond took another sip of martini.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to assume that,” Bond said, grinning slightly as Q caught on and groaned at the slip. “I should warn you though that I’m a light sleeper and tend to lash out during nightmares, so no extra stimuli during those moments would be in your best interest,” Bond said, voice not entirely playful. “Therefore, if I was in the armchair, I’d not have as great a risk of waking you up. Or attempting to throttle you or keep you tucked away safe,” he added, letting Q take the martini glass away from his hands.

Q remained quiet as he turned the information over in his mind. “It won’t be comfortable,” he said after a moment, sipping the drink. “Given that my back isn’t quite as old and messed up as yours might be, I should probably sleep on the chair. It works out, so I can keep working while you sleep. That or we both sleep on the bed,” he said, pausing as he held the glass in one hand while peering at Bond.

Bond felt his mouth twitch. “I’m not the one who is going to be running when it comes down to a confrontation, and trust me when I say you can’t run with a screwed up back,” he said, reaching for the glass only to scowl when Q moved it out of reach. “I paid for that, so give it back,” he said, trying again only to have Q lean away.

“You’re working, so no drinking on the job. That and I wanted it, especially if I have to tell you about the, er, problem with MI5 that might arise with me returning to London,” Q said, smirking when Bond paused with piqued interest before he recalled saying similar words in distracting Q last night. Q slowly exhaled, and said, “First, I understand that it was three years ago but agencies tend to have very good memories when it comes to escaped prey.”

“Can’t argue that,” Bond said, recalling his dogged pursuit of Quantum in the early months of 2007. “I suspect it’s a survival tactic,” he said when Q frowned briefly at him.

“Probably. Anyway, three years ago, MI5 hired me for a commission job, to upgrade their firewalls on numerous servers. Easy enough, I had already been in the process of developing failsafe programs to use on my own computers, so I could feel more comfortable about leaving valuable information at home,” Q explained, finishing the martini off and setting it aside in time to catch a few coughs. “ _Fuck…_ ”

“Don’t drink it so fast next time. So you were doing a commission for MI5?” Bond prompted, glancing at the table for a brief second, the story teasing the edges of his memory.

“Yes, well, the chief tech turned out to be a prat, creating hell for me at every turn only because I was ‘young’ and ‘inexperienced’, compared to some of the staff he had on hand already. I did as requested, even taking the extra step to fix what the chief altered in an attempt to make it ‘his’, and then went home as soon as the commission was over and the director handed me the paycheck,” Q explained quietly, glancing at a few nearby passengers before pulling his cardigan up his shoulder again. “Apparently, someone was impressed enough to follow me, but I didn’t really _want_ to work for MI5 because at the time I was worried about what they would think of my interactions with Silva, so I quietly left the country a few weeks later.”

“And you haven’t been back since?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Too afraid to go back,” Q admitted, handing the empty martini glass to the server who had paused at their little booth. “I’m hoping that your employer doesn’t want their attention either, so she will keep my presence quiet without extra, er, incentive.”

“Trust me, she will,” Bond said, well aware of M’s attitude towards MI5. He glanced at his watch, and then said, “It’s almost midnight, do you want to head back to the compartment and we can settle the sleeping location issue?”

Q nodded. “Excellent idea,” he said, standing up at the same time as Bond, who ignored the raised eyebrow from the couple sitting across from them. Q evidently noticed them, because Bond saw the two of them look away right as Q fell in step beside him. He didn’t miss the way that Q remained close so that they were almost touching, fingers brushing occasionally until Q held back to let Bond through first, opening the door between cars and walking through the covered transitional to the first of several sleeping cars. He didn’t miss the way that even though Q had rested earlier, he still stifled yawns and rubbed his eyes at one point.

“Not used to running, are you?” he asked quietly as he paused in front of their compartment door, pausing long enough to face Q.

“You think I wouldn’t be, but I can’t stop expecting Patrice to show up again. I thought I was safe in the flat in Rome, I was on the seventh storey, but I forgot about the fire escape ladder,” Q said, shrugging as he glanced to his right, frowning when he spotted someone. Bond turned as well to see a woman wearing an Euro Railways employee’s uniform, talking with another passenger. He raised an eyebrow, and then turned back to Q in time to hear him say, “I know this is a train, but at this point, I’m ready to run away from anything or anyone.”

“If we sleep together on the same bed, then I’ll be on the side closest to the door,” Bond said quietly, quirking a smile when Q looked momentarily hopeful yet wary. “Hands off, fully understood,” he promised, stepping aside and gesturing for Q to go into the compartment. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to ask the lady here if she can direct me to some kind of security who might be able to do a quick sweep of the train in case Patrice or an associate _did_ sneak onboard,” he offered.

“All right… thank you, James,” Q said, smiling briefly before heading into the compartment, closing the door behind him with a barely audible _snap_.

Bond leaned back on a foot and turned right as the woman, whose nametag read ‘E. Moneypenny’, assured the other passenger that she would look into a matter for him, and then approached Bond as the other passenger closed his door. “Miss Moneypenny, to what do I owe the pleasure? Admittedly, I do want to know how the _hell_ you got onto a train _this_ fast while coming down from all the way in London,” he asked, grinning when the woman— _Moneypenny_ , he corrected himself—offered a secret smile before putting a finger to her lips, gesturing to his compartment door.

“Shh, we don’t want to spook your friend. But if you must know, I was already in Paris, waiting to assist you as needed when Riley called me to say that you had purchased two Euro Railway tickets from Milan to Paris. Two, indicating that you were bringing the hacker, who must have the list,” she quietly explained, reaching into a trouser pocket to pull out a thick envelope. “From Riley, he was adamant that you read it immediately. It’s also the reason for your change in orders, M wants the hacker regardless of whether he has the list or not…does he?” she asked, brow furrowing slightly in worry.

“Yes, and he’s planning to keep it until he can discern more information about the thirty-five agents and their aliases,” Bond replied quietly. “He has good intentions, and I believe that he just got into the wrong mess on accident.”

“You think he’s innocent.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but the implication was there.

“And I think we should proceed as though he is. I will take the information from him once I find out where it is, so that I have the assurance that it will go back to London, but I will vouch for him to M when we arrive. I told him the truth behind why we wanted to speak to him, I just didn’t give him any names,” Bond said quietly in a grim voice. “That being said, if he escapes when we arrive to Paris, whatever you do, _do not let him get close_ to a man named César Fournier, they have worked together in the past and I suspect Fournier will protect him if it comes down to that.”

Moneypenny frowned. “But what if you’re wrong? The mission with Ves—”

“Is not related to this, nor is it any of your business,” Bond interrupted coldly, just barely remembering in time to keep his voice down. “Just keep him away from Fournier, and we should be fine.”

Moneypenny nodded, mouth in a thin line. “Understood.”  She took a step back, winked at Bond, and then said in a normal volume, “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, I would like to know if a man fitting this description is onboard this train, or if he was seen traveling with anyone that may have boarded,” Bond replied, glancing at the door as he rustled some receipts in his jacket pocket, as though pulling out a slip of paper. A few beats of silence, and then he said, “Here it is.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling pleasantly before walking away with a brisk step.

Bond watched her leave, waiting until she was out of sight before he headed into the compartment, smiling briefly when he made eye contact with Q. The programmer had already made himself comfortable on the made bedspread, laptop on his lap and a joltingly familiar leather cord and hard drive around his neck. _Christ, has it been there the entire time?_ Bond wondered as he moved to hang up his jacket, careful to conceal any reaction; there was always the chance it was another fake, given that Patrice had been duped _twice_ now. “She’s looking into it,” he said after a moment, stepping over his bag before sitting down on the only other chair. “What are you doing?” he asked, nodding once to the laptop.

“Preparing it to read the hard drive data, I was going to decrypt some of the database entries so that I can figure out what to do next. I don’t know when I’ll get another quiet moment,” Q said, pausing long enough to pull the cord off from around his neck. Setting it on the bedspread, he patted the spot on his other side and said, “Want to take a look?”

Wordlessly, Bond moved to sit down next to Q, propping himself up on a hand to allow Q to lean on him. As Q inserted the drive into the laptop and called up the program in question, Bond watched as the screen flooded with numbers and letters, Q typing in a few commands before the screen went blank again, and Q began typing in html code. “What are you doing now?” he asked quietly, watching as Q typed in a few more commands before the screen began to automatically fill up with more letters and numbers.

“Working my way through the failsafe program protecting the information, one mistake and all of the data will be irreversibly erased,” Q said without looking up. “Then I’ll type in the decryption key and all of my work so far will decrypt itself, leaving me to figure out the rest.” He hesitated, and then said, “If I’m lucky, I may even find where the programmers signed off, making it easier to find the one that’s still alive.”

 _No, you won’t because the programmers were more careful than that._ Bond nodded, silently watching as Q slowly leaned back on him, dark hair tickling his chin.

After a stretch of time spent in silence, possibly hours or even minutes, he gradually became aware of the warm weight against his side, the unexpected intimacy of the gesture foreign, startling and oddly enough, comforting. He lowered his head slightly, just to brush his cheek against the curls, and nearly started when Q turned slightly to face him, clearly distracted. Bond hummed softly as he studied Q’s eyes, with more green flecks than he had thought in their first meeting. He grinned slightly when he felt Q’s heartbeat abruptly speed up, the vibrations going from his back to Bond’s chest. Moving slowly as to not spook Q, Bond slowly breathed before leaning in for a kiss, a gentle brush against lips that formed a soft ‘O’ of surprise when Q realized what was happening. Before Bond could pull away and apologize, Q leaned forward and captured his own, groaning softly as Bond cupped the back of his neck to hold him still. Bond couldn’t identify the scents against the warm skin, but tasted both tea and the martini from earlier as he slowly explored Q’s mouth.

With a soft moan, Q blinked, panting slightly to catch his breath when Bond pulled away for more air. Bond pressed a chaste kiss against his forehead, and rested the bridge of his nose on Q’s forehead. He closed his eyes, resting as the day’s events began to slowly catch up to him.

“James?”

“Mm?”

Q slowly exhaled, and then said, “We can’t keep doing this, not yet. It can’t go farther than this. Not until I figure out what to do with the data.”

“Why?” Bond asked, frowning as he leaned back just slightly to look at him.

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt just because Patrice saw you as a way to hurt me,” Q explained, resting a hand against Bond’s cheek. “Please…please wait until I have settled with the data. And you can rest now, your work is done and I’ll go to bed once I finish with what I wanted to do.”

Bond nodded, squeezing Q’s hand before glancing down at the screen, instantly recognizing some of the names that Q had already decrypted. He moved off the bed and headed over to his duffel to prepare for bed, careful to keep an eye on Q and the hard drive, which was in a sort of reader to be compatible for the laptop.

 _Visual confirmation achieved_.

Q scooted over on the bunk as Bond pulled his shirt off along with his belt and shoes, and he heard a quiet yet sharp inhale from Q as he knelt in front of his bag, exposing his back. He quietly removed the Walther PPK from the folds of a discarded shirt and stood up, using his body to block the gun as he slipped it into the shoulder holster that he’d hidden inside the suit jacket on the hook. Then he rejoined Q, taking the side of the bunk that was closest to the door and switching off the light as he walked past the switch. “Good night, Q,” he said as he lay down on his side, pulling up the blankets.

“Good night, James,” Q softly replied, the blue glow of the screen reflected on his glasses and face.

Bond soon drifted to sleep to the soft rhythmic clicking of computer keys and the gentle rumble of the train itself.


	10. Chapter 10

Bond woke up momentarily disoriented the next morning, a warm weight pressed along the length of his back and his world gently rocking with a steady thrumming underneath him. Confused and heart starting to race, he twisted slightly but stopped when he saw Q’s still form, curled up on top of the same blanket that covered himself. The other had changed into his pajamas at some point and had put everything—including the hard drive—away during the night. Bond carefully observed him, gently brushing dark mussy hair back to see a face that looked younger asleep than awake. Gently moving Q’s limbs, Bond extracted himself from Q’s grip and paused only once when Q stirred but did not wake. Bond still waited for a few seconds, scanning the compartment as he checked for any signs of disturbance around his possessions, blue eyes settling on the familiar computer bag propped up against the wall directly underneath his suit jacket.

_The information from Moneypenny._

He hadn’t checked it last night, too busy keeping himself in check and not reacting to the appearance of the list. A glance down to the computer bag inspired the idea that the list had to be in there—he couldn’t think of any other reason why Q would not be overprotective of the bag, especially after mentioning that his own laptop had the best security software he could design.

Very carefully, he inched his way out of the blankets and used the edge of the bunk to support himself as he stood up. Bond sidled over to the bag, keeping both Q and his path in sight while using the wall to help maintain his balance. The he knelt beside the computer bag, unzipping the main pocket and checking both pockets of space on either side of the laptop inside. Then he felt along the edges for any pockets, closing his eyes briefly when he felt the zip pull from a side pocket carefully sewn near the bottom. Feeling along the fabric, he felt the square object of the hard drive, and then unzipped the pocket to pull it out.

He checked Q again, freezing when he saw that the hacker had rolled over onto his stomach in his sleep, head turned towards the wall and an arm outstretched underneath Bond’s pillow. Q’s back moved evenly with sleep, and Bond turned his attention back to the task at hand. Standing up, he pulled the suit jacket aside to put the drive back into the same pocket with the packet from Moneypenny, the latter of which he pulled out and opened the flap. His brow furrowed when he saw the name _Winfield, Alexander Bryant_ imprinted along the top fold, and could see the dark imprint of a color photograph through the paper. Intrigued, he began to unfold the paper, already planning a way to avoid Winfield—and Fournier—once they arrived to Paris. _A quick in and out_ , he decided as he pulled back the top flap to read the man’s name and the first few lines from his copied birth certificate at the top.

He froze briefly at the sound, but turned when he heard a few more faint sniffles. Q’s shoulders were now hunched forward, shaking minutely as he kept his face buried in the pillow. Frowning, Bond folded the papers and slipped them back into the envelope, stashing it all away again in his interior pockets before crossing the room. “Q?” Is everything all right?” he asked quietly as he knelt, tugging away the blanket to remove external stimuli. He paused when Q abruptly flinched and sat up straight in bed, breathing hard as he twisted around as though for searching for something. Or some _one_ , Bond realized when Q froze after spotting him kneeling there.

“You’re alive,” Q whispered, voice cracking as he gingerly reached for Bond, who caught his fingers with one hand and gently kissed each one as Q lurched forward again. “Thank God, you’re still alive,” he whispered before leaning forward for a kiss, nearly catching Bond off-guard. Bond groaned, breathing in the warmth and slowly rising as he felt an unexpected touch of warm fondness tinged with regret as he pressed for a deeper kiss. Q finally broke it, swallowing as he rubbed his eyes with one hand and blindly groped for his glasses with the other.

“I’m flattered that you worry for me,” Bond teased, allowing Q to smack him on the shoulder before he located the glasses and hand them over. “Nightmare, then?” he said as he moved to sit on the bed, gently slipping Q’s glasses on for him.

“Yes.” Q blinked, but then scooted closer to Bond, resting his head on his shoulder. “I dreamed that we’d finally arrived to London,” he admitted, Bond nearly missing his words. “You and I were out, you were showing me around because I hadn’t seen the city in so long. We were walking when both MI5 and MI6 officers surrounded us. They—” he stopped, took a shuddering breath, and then continued speaking. “They agreed to let you go free if I went with them without a fuss, which I did.” He shrugged helplessly with one shoulder. “They shot you anyway.”

Bond felt his mouth twitch at the thought; M would probably at least allow MI5 to injure him and then arrest him. MI6 officers would be too terrified to try gunning him down, not with his resurrection record. “Believe it or not, MI6 has already shot me once,” he said, gently pulling away and twisting to show the bullet scar from Moneypenny’s gun in Istanbul. “Yet, here I am. I wouldn’t worry about me, anyway, I’m living on borrowed time as it is,” he said quietly, running his fingers gently through Q’s hair. Unspoken words— _no one will mourn if I died_ —hung suspended in the air between them for a few moments.

Q frowned before leaning forward. “James, you’re not an automaton at someone’s beck and call, you’re human. For what it’s worth, I’d miss you if you were gone, and not just because you’re keeping an eye out for me,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Bond’s.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Bond gently looked up for another kiss, Q not resisting him as the programmer gently tugged on his shoulder to bring him down to lay carefully on top of Q. Q’s dark hair fanned out against the pillow, and Bond indulged himself with another kiss. _I wish this wasn’t necessary to get his cooperation_ , he thought quietly, surprising himself as he pulled back for air, resting his forehead against Q’s. “Q, look at me,” he whispered even as Q closed his eyes, Bond’s callused fingertips running across warm skin underneath the pajama top. “Look at me,” he repeated, brushing noses with Q before the hazel eyes finally looked up at him. “I will not let MI6 harm you, understand? I will protect you to the best of my ability.”

Q stared at him, confusion swirling in the hazel eyes before he whispered, “Promise?”

“Promise,” Bond confirmed, smiling ever so slightly before Q pulled him down for another kiss.

“Then make me forget about the nightmare,” Q ordered, nipping Bond’s throat.

Bond chuckled darkly as he leaned down to softly bite the skin in the hollow of Q’s throat, rearranging his weight over Q as Q groaned from the bites. “With _pleasure_ ,” Bond growled before capturing another kiss, the unexpected thrust against his groin causing him to groan and allow Q to wrap his legs around his torso and flip the two of them over. The bunk creaked under their weight, but Q kissed Bond fervently, hands skimming Bond’s torso as Bond tried to still Q’s hips, tried to maintain some control.

Q paused, as did Bond, when the rough skin of healed scars rubbed against soft fingertips. Q sat back up, straddling him carefully as he examined Bond’s bare chest, fingers gently outlining each scar he came across. Bond remained absolutely still despite an aching cock, closing his eyes as he felt Q's lightly callused fingertips gently brush against the scars on his torso and abdomen. “Christ, I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Q murmured ever so softly after a moment, hazel eyes looking intently at Bond's own blue. He leaned forward as his fingertips settled on a scar underneath Bond’s breastbone, and then looked up to meet Bond’s gaze. “What happened here?”

“Shrapnel, from a trip to India,” Bond replied, closing his eyes as he felt the fingers moving again, dancing across each mark before settling on another one. “Bullet,” he said when he felt the fingers pause on another spot. He opened his eyes right as Q leaned forward to capture another kiss. “You are gorgeous,” he murmured against Q’s lips, slipping his hands underneath Q’s pajama waistbandsand resting them on Q’s bare waist while the latter stretched himself over Bond, squirming delectably against him. Bond smirked as Q looked down at him with a mischievous smile before Q leaned down for another kiss, and allowed Q to stretch his arms over his head as their fingers intertwined with each other.

_Zzztt!_

Q’s weight was gone the moment Bond’s eyes snapped open at the familiar sound of handcuffs snapping closed, cold metal cutting into skin when Bond tried to lunge for Q, who stumbled another few steps backwards. _“Fuck!_ ” he swore, the movement pulling on his still healing shoulder and sending a jolt of pain down his arm. He twisted around to find that his left wrist had been handcuffed to a bedside table leg, and turned back to see Q setting the key down on a small table near the lavatory entrance. “You little…” he began, hot anger and irritation coursing through his veins.

“Apologies, double-oh seven, but I did tell you that I was willing to go any length to protect the data,” Q said, voice breaking as Bond froze at the title. He shook his head as he turned to start getting dressed. “I’m hardly the first person to fall for your tricks though, am I? I had hoped, that perhaps I was just being extra paranoid when I reverse-searched your name on the train to Rome. You know, after you made the appointment,” he said bitterly as he nearly tripped trying to get his trousers on. “Universal Exports, by the way, has a back door into the MI6 servers. I didn’t take anything, just wanted to let you know that your agency’s cover had a leak.”

 _Shit_. “Q, I never lied to you. We did in fact lose a list of names after the Italian programmer was killed, and Patrice killed an MI6 team to get it,” Bond said calmly yet quickly, blue eyes never leaving Q’s form as the other man headed to the suit jacket still half-dressed. “I told you the truth, omitting only names, but that should be expected given the business we're in. MI6 _did_ want you to locate it for us, because it was imperative to recover the lost data in order to protect those on it!” he snapped even as Q reached into the jacket pocket.

Q snorted, pulling out the Walther and gently setting it on the table next to the key. “Is that what they wanted you to tell me?” he asked as he pulled the hard drive out and slipped into a trouser pocket before reaching into the jacket again and pulling out the packet of information. “Do you know how disconcerting it is to accidentally knock a jacket down, and then pick it up only to find that the owner has information on every aspect of your life from someone you’re trying to run from?” he asked, holding up the packet.

_From Riley, he was adamant that you read it immediately._

“You’re Alexander Winfield,” Bond said, suddenly recalling the story about MI5. Moneypenny’s warning suddenly made sense.

“My uncle sent you to talk to me, didn’t he? I _knew_ I should have checked the bloody mobile before I left on Friday, I was in a hell of a rush that afternoon…although, I suspect you were in my flat too, after I left. _Damn_ ,” Q growled almost to himself as he left the packet on the table. “Well, that complicates things a bit.” He eyed Bond for a moment, and then asked, “Was I just a means to an end, then? Did none of…anything matter to you?”

“Does it matter to you right now?” Bond countered, unable to answer, unable to look away as Q finished getting dressed.

“Closure, it would probably help right now,” Q admitted, eyes glassy as he looked down, struggling briefly with the cardigan before reaching for his anorak. He slipped on the computer bag, glancing once at the handcuffs before turning back to Bond.

_Wheet! Wheet!_

Q flinched at the train whistle, but looked at Bond, who had stopped fidgeting. “Thirty minutes before we arrive to Paris, I must have been more tired than I thought,” he said, his tone flat to all those who heard but did not listen. He checked his watch but never at Bond, trying desperately to cover the cracks in his composure that Bond could see forming, tiny fault lines held together by sheer force of will. Q swallowed before he nodded once to Bond and said, “Goodbye then, James.”

Bond grunted as he tried to tug his wrist free. “Q, wait—”

Q slipped out the compartment, the door closing behind him with a soft _click_.

 _Sod it all_.

Bond rolled to the side and into a crouch, easily overturning the table—lamp and clock included—and sliding the handcuff off the leg. Then he crossed the room to where Q had left the key and unlocked the other cuff from his wrist, pocketing both into his jacket interior pocket as he pulled a shirt on and struggled briefly to maintain his balance while dealing with socks and shoes. Then he grabbed his jacket and left the compartment.

“Excuse me,” he snapped as an employee nearly backed into him, startling a few passengers that were still attempting to pack up numerous belongings. He headed towards the dining car as he searched for a sight of the familiar mop of black hair, not paying attention to those in his path as he reached the end of the car and pulled the door open and crossed through without hesitation.

Slamming the second door open, he calmly walked into the dining car, carefully examining each table and its diners for any sign of Q. A quick glance out the window told him that he still had a little time left before the train arrived to the station, after which the chase would spill out into the Parisian streets if he, or Moneypenny for that matter, did not catch Q beforehand. He ignored the stares as he made his way down the aisle to the next car— _the kitchen car, he would still try even if the staff tried to stop him._

“Bond!”

He turned from where he’d been reaching for the door to the kitchen car, but relaxed when he spotted Moneypenny approaching him, having ditched the employee’s uniform in favor of business casual. “Have you seen Winfield yet? He’s figured out who I am and still thinks that MI6 will persecute the names on the list, he doesn’t realize that it was ours to begin with,” he explained quietly when she caught up to him.

“He figured it out? What does he look like?” she whispered, tensing to run again.

“Caucasian, dark floppy hair, glasses, hazel eyes, and he’s wearing an oversized parka and computer bag,” Bond explained quickly and quietly as he undid the latch to the door. “We arrive in twenty minutes. Regardless of whether you’ve caught him or not, meet me by the lockers in the station once you’ve gotten off. If we don’t catch him in the city, we’ve as good as lost him since he has family who can protect him from us by dragging in the government,” Bond warned, deciding not to underestimate Fournier’s ability to manipulate his reach into the government to sufficiently shield Q.

She nodded as Bond opened the door. “Twenty minutes, got it,” she said before leaving, heading to check in the other direction.

Bond shouldered the door open and walked straight inside the kitchen, ignoring the indignant squawks and surprised yelps from the kitchen staff. A quick glance did not reveal any sign of the dark hair, so he kept walking on even when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Sir! You cannot be in here if you are—”

“Police,” Bond snapped before pushing his way through the startled kitchen staff, some scrambling to get out of his way as he approached the other end of the car. He pulled his gun out just before reaching the door, firing it once at the lock just below the handle. Ignoring the few screams that immediately followed the pistol report, he headed into the next dining car as he closed the door behind himself again. Stunned diners watched in silence as he scanned each table, carefully navigating his way around luggage and pet carriers as he kept the Walther pointed to the ground.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he turned in time to see Q release a woman’s Yorkie, the little dog tearing out of its carrier and heading straight for Bond. Bond turned, his attention focused on the dog in the five seconds it took for Q to slip by the agent, scuttling along the wall before darting for the door. Without thinking, Bond charged after him, jumping over the little dog and swearing when he found more locks. These gave way easily, and he entered the next car to find Q already struggling with the next set.

“Q, it doesn’t have to end this way. No one will harm you,” he said calmly as he approached Q, who only yanked harder on the handle as Bond drew closer.

Q wordlessly shook his head, finally turning around and throwing the bulky computer bag right as Bond tried to lunge for him a second time. Bond grunted when the bag slammed into his chest, the door handle finally giving way and allowing Q through.

He slipped through as Bond dropped the bag to the ground, slamming the door shut and the locks sliding into place as he twisted something on the other side. Then, as Bond pulled his Walther out again, Q sidled to the edge of the car, leaning forward as though watching something that Bond couldn’t see.

_Bang!_

As Bond shoved the door open, Q retreated before darting back to the edge, jumping as Bond stepped outside. He landed with a practiced shoulder roll onto the platform, tumbling and almost crashing into waiting passengers. He disappeared from sight almost right away as the train started to slow down, Bond rushing to the spot and leaning forward to look back and see Q picking himself up from the ground. Then Bond headed back in for the computer bag.

_Chase is on._


	11. Chapter 11

Moneypenny stood near the lockers as arranged before by the time he emerged from the depths of the station, pride still smarting as he squashed down grudging admiration for Q’s risky escape. He saw Moneypenny’s eyes flicker from the computer bag in his hands to his sides, where he had no target. “Is the list in the bag?” she asked, glancing across the front steps as he set the bag down. “Where’s the mark?”

“He jumped from the train as it started to slow down, I want you to go to Fournier’s office and head him off there,” Bond said as he opened the bag and rummaged around the bag for the small side pocket and unzipping it. “Fuck, it’s gone,” he muttered with a growl underneath his breath as he found the pouch to be empty. “Damn him, he still has it,” he said as he stood up, slinging the bag over a shoulder before zipping up the main compartment. He glanced at her and said, “Tell Fournier that MI6 wants a word with him and his nephew, separately of course, and if he does not comply then he will be treated as an accomplice to an international terrorist.”

“Bit extreme, wouldn’t you say, for a hacker?” Moneypenny remarked as she gestured for Bond to give her the bag. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

“Chasing him down. It won’t be if Q decides to take his own course of action that could potentially harm MI6 and her agents,” he warned, handing the bag over. “Did you see him come through here? He had plenty of time to get away compared to us, at least ten to fifteen minutes if I had to guess.”

“No, but I suspect he may have seen me standing here, waiting for you,” Moneypenny said as Bond scanned the busy train station. “Let me get a rental and then I’ll go to Fournier’s office.”

Bond nodded. “Call me if you need backup for anything,” he said as she left, momentarily distracted as he watched her check around the corner before walking out of sight towards the car rentals.

Then he moved into the crowds of employees, passengers, and visitors as a cover, keeping to the edges of the room as he scanned the room for some sign of the familiar black mop of hair. He remained in a half crouch to keep from standing out, but faced the main entrance as it presented the most direct route to Fournier’s office. He tensed when he spotted the familiar parka; Q glanced around himself, eyes still red and slightly puffy as he hugged himself before slowly making his way to the entrance, weaving slightly as he walked. Bond pushed aside the twinge of guilt in his gut in favor of slowly making his way across the expansive lobby towards the figure that had paused near the doors, carefully scanning the front steps below. Bond picked up the pace, blue eyes never leaving Q’s form.

Then Q tilted his head, and then turned without warning.

Bond saw his eyes widen for a moment, and he started running the same moment Q did. Without hesitation, Q disappeared from view going down the front steps until Bond reached the top in time to see him hail a cab and nearly trip over himself trying to get inside the backseat. As Bond ran down the steps towards the street, the car door closed and the vehicle waited a second before haphazardly pulling into traffic, earning honks from other vehicles and shouts from pedestrians.

“Excusez-moi, j'ai besoin de votre moto,” Bond said as he approached a man getting off his motorbike.

He ignored the man’s squawk of protest as he snatched the keys and elbowed the man in the ribs, knocking the man to the ground to buy a few precious extra seconds. He mounted the bike and turned on the engine, heading straight into the road without checking for oncoming traffic. He could seen his target up ahead, the cab restricted to the rules of the road as it tried accelerating to race the light. The driver must have realized that he wouldn’t make it, because the cab abruptly turned left right before the light, and Bond snarled to himself under his breath as he turned left, doggedly following the vehicle.

Airports weren’t a threat, and neither was the British embassy. Q would head straight to Fournier in order to receive whatever protection his uncle could give him, which meant Bond had to head the cab off before it could reach the road that would lead directly to the offices.

_Unless Q is counting on you to do exactly that and is heading for the embassy in an effort to buy extra time while you go off in the wrong direction._

For a moment, Bond wavered, slowing the motorbike down much to the consternation of the drivers behind him. Then, deciding that Moneypenny could serve as his backup in case Q tried a double bluff, he changed course at the next intersection, turning left as the cab continued going straight. He chose a slightly longer route to the embassy, but it was at least one he knew well, having visited the embassy frequently as both an agent and a civilian. The administrators, as well as the security officers, would recognize him immediately. Vaguely aware that he had no earpiece, Bond accelerated towards the embassy, hoping that Moneypenny had the sense to update headquarters once she settled into her role.

Keeping a steady hand on the handlebars, he guided the motorbike down the familiar tree-lined street towards the embassy, weaving in and out of cars until he pulled up to the locked gate that guarded the entrance to the embassy car park. A bullet took care of the lock, and Bond managed to get the motorbike into the car park and out of sight. He was dismounting when he heard an idling engine, and glanced around the corner in time to see Q stumbling out of the cab a moment later.

“Merci!” Q shouted before hurrying up the front steps to the two security officers on duty.

Bond took that as his cue to walk around to the back, keeping the Walther in hand even as two security patrol officers spotted him and started to approach him. “Sir,” one began, his grip tightening on his gun, “You can’t come back—”

“Bring Captain Randall to me immediately,” Bond interrupted, leaving no room for argument as he headed for the back door. “ID code three-two-two-five,” Bond said without breaking stride. “The name’s Bond, James Bond.”

The two officers abruptly broke off, one resuming his patrol as the other hurried over to the door to open it for Bond. “Captain, there’s a James Bond who claims to know you— _oh_ , oh, I see now, my apologies, Captain. Yes, Captain,” he stammered into his radio, paling as he turned to face Bond. “Apologies, double-oh seven,” he said as he opened the door for Bond.

“Where is the captain?” Bond asked, glancing at the officer.

“Right here, double-oh seven. Let’s try not to destroy anything today, shall we?” Randall said, appearing out from one of the numerous doors in the main hall. He glanced Bond over as he fell in step beside the agent, his head reaching Bond’s shoulder. “Or am I too late with the request from M?”

“Too late, if you count the train,” Bond said, brow furrowing as he slowed down and turned to face Randall. “Lock down the embassy right now, and don’t let anyone go outside without my permission. Do not alert anyone to my presence, and then tell me where I can find the clerks who work here.”

Randall nodded, already reaching for his radio. “Which clerk are you looking for?” he asked as he pressed a button in preparation for relaying the orders.

“Alexander Winfield,” Bond said before nodding down the hall. “Are they that way?” he asked, turning back to Randall.

Randall nodded. “I know which one you’re talking about, brilliant but also gets into spots of trouble,” he said, glancing down the hall. “Let me relay your orders, and then I’ll go join you in the main room. I take it you want him unharmed?”

“Correct.”

Randall nodded. “Very well, sir. Call if you have problems,” he said before leaving.

Bond headed to the door at the end of the hall, ignoring the ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY’ sign taped to the front and pushing it open. Several employees paused when he entered what he first thought was the administrative area until he spotted a few civilians sitting amongst the maze of desks and employees, most of whom were frozen in place as he walked in, gun still in hand. He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t react as two security officers appeared, one staying by his side as the other moved to the edge of the room, already scanning for Q.

“Everyone remain calm, I will be gone in just a moment,” Bond said, already studying each person’s face in the off chance that Q had a chance to change his clothes. The few clerks that glowered at him, disgruntled at his appearance, Bond silently registered as Q’s potential allies. “Winfield,” he began in a controlled voice, slowly approaching the center of the room. “Come out now so that we can discuss our little matter in privacy, I have no intention of harming you,” he said, turning even as he watched for some telltale flicker of movement. “Everything I told you was the truth, all I did was not add any names to the individuals,” he said, taking a few deep breaths to maintain some sort of calm façade that would at least lure Q out into a parley. He narrowed his eyes as one clerk, a pretty young woman with shoulder-length dark hair and blue eyes, offered an innocent smile.

“Sir!”

Bond twisted around and lunged for the figure that had tried to sneak past him, Q stumbling as he turned and backpedaled in an effort to stay out of Bond’s reach. He barely succeeded as his ankle slid out of Bond’s grasp as he forced himself to finish the backwards somersault when he lost his balance. Employees scattered as Bond lunged forward again as Q scrambled back to his feet, jiggling the doorknob before muttering, “ _Fuck_ ” under his breath and dodging Bond’s next swipe. The agent was in better control and was already shifting directions to cut Q off at the nearest door when a sudden weight slammed into his side, causing Bond to crash onto and roll off a nearby desk.

“Alex, _run!”_ the woman shouted—the woman from earlier, Bond noted as he staggered to his feet to pick up the chase.

 _“_ Arrest her!” he shouted over his shoulder as he shoved her off to the side when she tried to intercept him. “I’ll come back for her,” he snapped before pursuing Q, who had gone through the doors seconds before Bond came in range of reaching out to grab the parka. He didn’t slow down, ducking to avoid the flying parka as he followed Q down a hall that he realized led to the main entrance. Without thinking, he pulled the Walther out and pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

Q abruptly stopped, frozen in place. Even though he couldn’t see Q’s face, Bond knew from experience that the hacker was assessing himself for injury, giving Bond a few precious seconds to walk up behind Q and grab the younger man’s shoulder, slamming him against the wall. “ _Fuck!”_ Q swore when his head connected with the wall, a dull _thud_ that even Bond felt. “Fuck, fuck, _no_ , no, you can’t do this, please don’t do this,” he whispered as he squirmed in Bond’s grip, eyes widening momentarily when Bond raised the Walther to slip it back into the shoulder holster.

“Q, stop and listen to me. You used to trust me, and I’m asking that you trust me—” Bond began.

“You fucking _lied_ to me, cozied up and made me think you were relatively _safe_ compared to everyone else I met in this fucking job,” Q snapped, voice cracking slightly. “I trusted you, I still can’t believe I bought your story, hook, line and fucking sinker—”

“I told you the truth, everything about it except names. Need-to-know basis, you encounter it whether you’re a freelancer dealing with criminals or working in espionage,” Bond snapped harshly, using both his hands to flatten Q’s shoulders against the wall when Q tried to bite his wrist.

“James, innocent people will die if MI6 gets ahold of that list,” Q whispered, voice breaking as he finally sagged in Bond’s grip. “Please, I meant no ill against MI6, but their style is lacking in clean assassinations. I can’t let them have it just yet, not yet, just give me a couple more days to decrypt the information,” he whispered even as his shoulders tensed, giving Bond all the warning he needed to use his knee to keep Q’s own in check. “James, _please_ understand—”

“Q, I’m not asking you to trust me for the rest of your life. Just enough to get through the next twenty-four hours intact, you have a list that MI6 wants to _protect_ instead of utilize,” Bond said, keeping his voice down. “M _will_ do her hardest to condemn you for what you’ve done, evading the law with government property, and I will do my best to at least lessen your sentence for not only telling me the truth, but for _coming quietly and compliantly_ with me back to London,” he said, glancing to the side briefly to find that several employees were huddled around the open door, not bothering to hide that they were trying to eavesdrop.

Q stared at him for a few moments before reluctantly nodding, the tension draining from his shoulders as he allowed Bond to move his hands so that he kept Q’s hands pinned behind his back. Steering Q towards the front door, Bond slowly exhaled with quiet relief at the lack of a fight. “I never once lied to you, Q. My employers did ask me to retrieve the list that you hold now and to ask Alexander Winfield for assistance. For what it’s worth, you did impress my employer for turning Farrows down on his employment offered, she never liked him very much,” Bond said after a moment as he used one hand to push the door open.

“She’s going to kill me,” Q whispered faintly as he stumbled slightly.

“Only if you anger her enough,” Bond replied as they walked across the lobby, Bond slowing the two of them down long enough to use his body to open the main front doors. “Do keep in mind also that there’s only so much I can do for you, I’ll need your help to obtain your complete freedom,” he warned as they walked down the first set of steps. He noticed that the embassy security officials stood by the curb, a car waiting with the woman from earlier already sitting inside, head bowed and cuffed hands on her lap.

“Oh God… James, not Marcela, she’s not involved with any of this,” Q said, stopping on the bottom step, nearly causing Bond to collide with him. “I’ll give you the data right now if you let her go.”

“She’s in trouble for an entirely different reason, and M will want to talk to you anyway, especially if the list does not turn up in your belongings,” Bond said, ushering Q towards the second car idling behind the first. “Marcela will probably get off easy since she only slammed me into a bloody desk,” he said, scowling at the memory.

Q didn’t reply, only lowered his shoulders as he glanced at Marcela through the window.

“Double-oh seven!”

Bond turned to see Randall approaching him, radio in hand. “An Agent Moneypenny just called requesting immediate assistance, she says that a mutual friend of yours and hers just arrived to a Monsieur Fournier’s office, someone named Patrice,” Randall said, handing the radio over to Bond, who lifted one hand to take it from him.

His only warning was the tensing in Q’s shoulders.

_Shit, I forgot that Fournier is his uncle._

“Q, _wait!”_ he shouted right as Q's eyes widened seconds before he broke free, twisting out from Bond’s grip before running towards the second car. “Hold your fire!” he barked at the security officers right as Q opened the driver’s door and pulled the hired and startled driver out of his seat before sliding into the car, shutting the door and pulling into traffic without warning. Bond wrinkled his nose at the foul smell of burning tire filling the air as the Q activated the car’s sirens, other vehicles moving promptly out of the way.

“Will you require reinforcements, double-oh seven?” Randall asked as he signaled someone to take Marcela out of her car.

“No. Just get the girl to SIS headquarters in London and tell M that she’s there on my orders for aiding and abetting Q, she’ll understand,” Bond said as he approached the now empty car, the driver scrambling to get out himself.

Closing the door, Bond dialed Moneypenny before pulling into traffic in hopes of catching her before Patrice reached her in order to formulate a plan, but swore softly when the mobile rang before going to voicemail. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered as he finally managed to maneuver around the knot of traffic and ran the red light, accelerating towards Fournier’s building. Balancing the mobile on the wheel, he dialed Fournier’s private secretary, putting it on speakerphone and setting it aside on the passenger seat to better focus on the road ahead of him.

He frowned on the fifth ring, and a cool female voice said, “Je suis désolé, mai—”

Bond cut the connection.

Wishing he knew how far ahead Q was, Bond felt a growing uneasiness in his gut—the last time he’d pursued someone he cared strongly for, she had drowned—as he reached for his mobile again and dialed Q this time, using a pilfered number.

Only silence followed the rings.

 _Damn_.

His unease only sharpened when he finally arrived to the building only to find several bodies of security officers scattered about the car park, along with a familiar car that had bullet holes riddled along the side.

Q was gone from sight.


	12. Chapter 12

Parking the car, Bond pulled out his Walther and first approached the car that Q had taken and checked inside, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding when he saw that the car was empty. After checking the empty boot, he headed inside the office building, unnerved at the utter _silence_ that seemed to wrap the premises in a bubble, cutting it off from the rest of the bustling city. He crouched briefly before checking the upper windows for any sign of snipers, briefly recalling the woman from Milan. When he didn’t spot anyone, he crept to the edge of the car park, keeping his head down as he moved along the row of vehicles until he got to the end. A quick check around, and he darted to the front doors, careful to keep the gun at his side.

He exhaled sharply when entering the lobby, noting the silence in the room and the missing secretary from her usual desk. A quick survey of the desk surface revealed several wrinkled papers and a misplaced phone, but no blood. Moving from the center of the room, he headed to the lifts, aware that Fournier would be the target if Patrice figured out Q’s real identity— _although how, I don’t understand. He’s a hired gun, not a computer expert. If he were, he wouldn’t have needed Q’s help._

_Unless Patrice had outside help. Fuck._

Ignoring the tightening in his chest as he pressed the button for the lift, he glanced around the lobby once more for any familiar sign of Q, swallowing when he found none by the time the lift doors opened. He checked the ammunition as the lift ascended, and switched the safety off before raising the gun in front of him. The doors opened a few seconds later on the third storey, but no one opened fired on him. A quick glance either way down the hall turned up two dead security officers, but no Q. He _did_ notice though that the familiar oak door that led to Fournier’s office was open, but he heard no sounds of movement inside, the carpet muffling his slow steps as he crossed the hall and moved closer.

_Creeeeaaak!_

Bond winced at the sound that echoed down the hall as he nudged it back with a foot hooked around the door. When no one immediately fired at him because of the noise in the subsequent five seconds, he moved inside, noting the one officer off to the side and the hand sticking out from behind the desk. Quietly, he moved into Fournier’s empty office, checking around the bookcases and in the desk footwall before pulling back the chair and sitting down. As he powered on the computer, he noted that Fournier’s phone lay off its cradle near the edge of the desk, nestled in the shattered glass from a picture frame that had a tell tale small circle in the middle of a photograph that had two women standing on either side of a younger Q. _Mother and aunt?_ Bond wondered as the computer powered up with a faint whine. Nothing else seemed out of place, which meant that Fournier had surrendered. _Hostage or mark, Patrice would have taken him to get Q’s cooperation_. _Probably gave Moneypenny the time she needed to call for help._ He set aside his gun before turning his attention to hacking the login screen.

_Click!_

Bond froze at the sound of someone switching the safety off, but remained still for a few heartbeats before slowly looking up to see Fournier’s secretary, whom he’d just assumed as dead, aiming a gun at him with scarlet-covered hands. At first, she seemed unharmed, but Bond only knew too well how easily one could conceal blood with a black business suit. Her eyes widened when they met his, and she faltered, lowering the gun by a fraction of an inch. “You’re the MI6 agent who was here last week,” she whispered, switching the safety back on as she took a few steps away from him.

“Yes, and there should have been another MI6 agent here, a woman who would have arrived only a few hours before. Her name was Moneypenny, did she come?” Bond asked, careful to keep his voice down.

The woman nodded. “She came and spoke with Monsieur Fournier, she told him that his nephew had committed treason against the British Crown, and that Monsieur Fournier was forbidden to speak to him before MI6. He disagreed, explaining that his nephew had almost completed the process of obtaining diplomatic immunity here in France and did not have to comply with MI6 orders,” she explained, her gaze flickering to the Walther as she leaned carefully against the doorframe. “The gunman took them together, I pretended to be dead as best I could.”

_Diplomatic immunity. So that’s how Fournier plans to protect him, making it impossible for M, and me, to reach Q._

“Did Fournier’s nephew ever arrive?” Bond asked, moving away from the computer.

“Not that I know of, you are the first person I’ve seen since the gunman left,” the woman said apologetically, grimacing as she tried to move from the doorway. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can help you search for them, but I can tell you that I think they may have gone upstairs, that’s where the conference rooms are. On the fifth level, those rooms are the only ones that can hold hostages. I do not know if the gunman has anyone else with him, only one person came into this office,” she explained as Bond walked around the desk, nudging one of the office chairs towards her.

“Just call this number,” he said, taking a piece of scrap paper and scribbling a number down, “Ask for Captain Randall, and tell him that double-oh seven will need reinforcements will need damage control and potential assistance with an unknown number of hostiles,” he ordered, passing the paper over before reaching for Fournier’s phone and turning it around so that it sat in front of her. “I’m going to shut the office door, shoot to injure so that you don’t kill a fellow staff member, but don’t let the hostile get the advantage over you.”

“ _Oui, monsieur_.”

Bond took the stairs this time, mindful that Patrice would have a man monitoring the lift and if not, at least listening for the lift’s arrival. If there were more hostages than just Moneypenny and Fournier—Patrice wouldn’t hurt Q, not just yet—he would harm them first to gain Bond’s compliance, but would use only Fournier against Q. Bond paused by the fourth storey door, glancing through the little window for any sign of personnel or Patrice’s reinforcements. Then he moved on, keeping the Walther out and ready as he paused on the small landing halfway to the top, head tilted as he listened for any sign of activity. Then he headed up the rest of the way, flattening himself against the wall when he arrived to the last door. A quick check through the window revealed the hallway to be empty, but the creaks from rusty hinges as Bond opened the door still echoed like gunshots.

Ducking underneath the window of the nearest door, Bond checked inside only to find an empty room with numerous chairs surrounding a long conference table. Someone had drawn the blinds of the floor-length windows, creating a muted golden glow from the autumn sun in the room itself. Nothing appeared to be disturbed, so he moved on to the next room, remaining in a crouch as he moved across the hall to check the rooms on the other side when he heard a muffled _thump_ at the end of the hall.

The last conference room door was at the end of the hall, allowing Bond to use the corner of the wall as a cover before leaning forward to look through the window, breath held.

The table was shorter than the others, but Fournier and his companions, two secretaries and another lawyer, sat in sight, hands tied and resting on top of the table surface. Two gunmen stood behind them, armed with drawn weapons, and Patrice stood on the other side, near Moneypenny. Her hands were tied too, but she was more focused on the hushed argument between Patrice and Q, the latter of which was still relatively free to move.

Q looked pale, determined, and an odd sort of calm that Bond interpreted as quiet desperation as he gestured to Patrice, moving his body in between Fournier and Patrice as he spoke. He fell abruptly silent as Patrice said something to him before pulling out a slim black computer case. Q shook his head, but Patrice signaled one of his two men, who pressed a gun to the back of Fournier’s head, forcing the lawyer to bow his head forward. Q said something, holding up a hand as he lurched forward, but the gunman wordlessly switched the safety off, causing Q to fall still in his tracks. Jaw tightening, Q turned and said something to Patrice, who nodded as Q began fumbling around in his parka pockets, pulling out a slim memory stick. Q shakily exhaled as Patrice took the memory stick, and then looked up straight at Bond a second later.

For a moment, neither man moved.

Bond put a finger against his lips in silent warning.

Q inclined his head once.

Placing a hand on the door handle, Bond waited until Patrice leaned down over the laptop with Q leaning over his shoulder. Then, once Patrice was sufficiently engaged with the laptop Bond pushed the bar down and pushed the door open on noiseless hinges. He pulled the hammer and pressed the trigger right as nearest gunman turned at the movement in the corner of his eye.

_Bang!_

The gunman jerked back, colliding into his companion and throwing the other’s aim off as he tried to fire back at Bond. Bond ducked as the bullet slammed into the door frame just above where his shoulder had been a moment ago, and then he fired his next shot at the second gunman before firing at Patrice’s computer, shattering the screen right as Patrice managed to retreat from it in time. Patrice then tried to pull his own gun out to fire at Moneypenny, but she twisted in her seat and managed to fall out of sight, landing on her shoulder and rolling slightly towards the chair. Bond fired at Patrice underneath the table, catching the other man’s foot. Q then swept the good leg out from underneath the assassin before running to free his uncle and the others.

“ _Fuck!”_ Q abruptly swore, stumbling when Patrice twisted around and grabbed his ankle. He quickly recaptured his balance by reaching out and catching himself on the window glass, Bond taking advantage of the distraction to jump onto the table and run across, narrowly missing the mercenary as Patrice jerked away, releasing Q. Bond tried to kick the gun out of Patrice’s hand, but failed when Patrice snagged his ankle, bringing him down to the floor. He accidentally dropped the gun then, doing his best to throw it out of reach before twisting around to grasp for Patrice’s throat.

Patrice was faster, snagging Bond’s shirt collar with his other hand and keeping a firm grip as he rolled to his feet, forcing Bond to keep moving with him into a standing position. Then Bond tried to strike again only for Patrice to yank on the collar and shove him face-first into the table before flipping him over, placing a hand on Bond’s throat to keep him still. Bond still reached for the wrist on his throat with both hands, straining to ease the pressure enough to snap _“Get them out of here!”_ at Q, who moved out of his peripheral vision to obey. Bond used an elbow to knock the shattered laptop to the ground, the computer snapping in half as it landed keyboard-and-screen-side down.

Then Bond drove his knee straight into Patrice’s groin.

The encroaching pressure around his throat abruptly eased, and Bond surged forward as Patrice doubled over in pain. The resulting _crack_ echoed in the conference room, one of the secretaries shrieking in surprise outside as Patrice fell to the ground with a groan. Bond ignored her as he regained his balance and stepped on Patrice’s wavering wrist as the mercenary tried to reach for the nearest gun. Bond picked it up and slid it across the table without looking, snapping, “Hold this!” before he danced out of Patrice’s reach as the man curled in an attempt to grab his ankle again. Rolling away before Bond could react, Patrice tried to reach for the gun near the window only to abandon the effort when Bond easily kicked it away as well.

Moving to his feet, faster than Bond would have anticipated for recovering from a groin shot, Patrice jabbed at his nose and Bond stepped to the side to avoid the swing. He turned to face Patrice and caught the next punch with a raised forearm, the mercenary moving with a slight hobble as he tried to deliver an uppercut that clipped Bond’s jaw. Bond moved lower, feinting a blow to the solar plexus before landing a punch to Patrice’s nose, sending the mercenary reeling. He tried to return with another punch, ducking one of Bond’s blows before aiming a kick at Bond’s knees. Bond moved to avoid the blow, putting the windows to his back.

Patrice charged forward, trying to shove him backwards as Bond spotted Q moving again, this time reaching for one of the abandoned guns and tossing the other to Moneypenny, who moved to get a clear shot. Swallowing the ill feeling of déjà vu—and dread—Bond grunted when Patrice’s hands slammed against his shoulders, shoving him backwards towards the windows. He struggled, trying to dig the heels of his shoes into the carpeting below while keeping Patrice’s grasping fingers away from his neck.

Then, in sheer desperation, Bond tensed his body, hands tightening on Patrice’s shirt.

_Bang!_

Bond felt the moment Patrice went slack in his hands as he pivoted his body to propel Patrice forward through the window, raising an arm and ducking down to shield himself from the glass shards. Car alarms and screams overpowered the tinkling of breaking glass, and Bond waited a few moments before going to the window and kneeling to look down, the sun’s glare protecting him from view.

Patrice lay still and unmoving on the pavement, a circle of spectators forming as the police arrived with an ambulance close behind. Bond watched in silence as police ushered the crowd back, no one rushing to Patrice’s side or arguing with the police to hover near the body. One of the paramedics shook his head, and two others covered the body as two more unmarked vehicles arrived.

Then he saw her.

She stood on the edge of the crowd, wearing the familiar coat but a different dress. She was the only person looking up at the building, dark hair swept to one side as careful eyes made contact with Bond, who didn’t move from his spot. After holding his gaze for a few more minutes, she finally turned on her heel and walked away with a brisk step, ducking her head and pulling her coat closer around herself.

_Who were you to Patrice?_

As he leaned back and out of sight, a glint of gold caught his eye. Frowning, he turned to see a small casino chip sitting near the smashed laptop. He picked up both the chip and the memory stick, tucking both into a pocket before standing up again.

“Double-oh seven?”

He turned to find the former hostages standing in the doorway, Moneypenny standing between them and Q. The younger man stood on the other side of the table, Bond’s Walther still raised and aimed at where Patrice stood moments earlier. Bond could see the light trembling in Q’s arms and steeled jaw as his eyes remained fixed on the gun’s crosshairs. Bond moved, to test if Q would follow, but the programmer didn’t.

Stepping away from the shattered window, Bond slowly walked around the table, never once looking away from the gun in Q’s hands; Q himself didn’t seem to be in shock yet, but he hadn’t put the gun down either. Without prompting from Bond, Moneypenny leaned forward to pull Fournier away from the younger man as Bond approached Q, moving slowly as to not accidentally spook him. Bond gently reached forward and rested a hand on Q’s forearm to encourage him to lower the gun, carefully sliding Q’s fingers off of the handgrip as he leaned forward to gently whisper, “Was that your first time shooting another man?” into the thick dark curls.

“No… I’ve shot before in self-defense. But never in cold blood, I was just afraid, he—Christ, James, I’m still angry with you but at the same time I thought you were going to die or at the very least go out the window instead,” Q said after a moment, blinking rapidly as he allowed Bond to pull him close. “I don’t know if I can handle it for very long if you continue to scare me like this,” he admitted as Bond snorted gently before kissing him gently on the forehead. 

“I hate to disappoint you then, because I face similar risks every time I’m sent out,” Bond replied as he buried his face into the crook of Q’s neck, secretly delighted yet relieved at the implied promise of a future even as he nuzzled warm skin. He hesitated, and then said, “I still do have to take you back to London.”

Q nodded, glancing at Fournier as the lawyer tried to step forward as though in protest. Moneypenny caught him with a hand to the chest in warning as Bond stepped around and pulled Q’s cardigan sleeves down before placing the handcuffs around the fabric. “I’ll uncuff you in the car, I just need to get you downstairs with minimal fuss,” he said quietly before guiding Q towards the door.

“I know.”

Moneypenny brought up the rear as Bond led Q out of the room and towards the lifts, hand firmly wrapped around the small chain between the metal cuffs. Moneypenny slipped onto the lift behind Bond, leaving the others behind, and pressed the button for the ground floor. “When you and Patrice were talking, before I entered,” Bond said, glancing at Q, who turned to face him, “What was he saying?”

“That his employer was remotely linked to the laptop, planning to do any decryption work since he felt Patrice was too incompetent to handle it on his own. I’d given him my last memory stick, and if you hadn’t shown up, he would have seen all my financial information from the last two years. I would have told him that you were traveling with me and must have taken it, which as we both know, wasn’t far from the truth,” Q said, jumping when the lift doors open. He paled as Bond nudged him out into the lobby, and said, “The car park…”

“Just don’t look down,” Bond instructed, glancing at Moneypenny. “Do you want to take the first driving shift or should I?”

“I will when we stop for dinner on the way to London, it’s a five hour drive and I wouldn’t even try getting back to headquarters before closing time,” Moneypenny warned as she moved to walk on Q’s other side.

Bond glanced at his watch, noting that it was almost one thirty. “A hundred quid says I can do it,” he said, turning to Moneypenny.

“I’ll take that bet,” Q offered, glancing back at him.

“In that case, _I_ drive first. Q, you don’t want him driving since he’ll either crash the car or the police will try to arrest us,” Moneypenny said, snatching the keys from Bond. “And wait here, I’ll bring the car around so that you don’t have to go outside.”

Bond scowled as she left. “And to think that aside from shooting me off a bridge, she also damaged the jeep we were using,” he grumbled as he turned Q around so that they wouldn’t have to face the car park.

Q stared at him. “Wait, that actually happened?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Where do you think the bullet scar on my shoulder came from?” Bond asked.

“Ah, I see.” Q remained quiet as he relaxed against Bond, shoulders resting against Bond's chest. He bowed his head briefly, muscles tensing, and all Bond found he could do was squeeze Q's shoulders gently before rubbing them briefly as they waited for the car in preparation to leave the city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, I will post the final two parts tomorrow, thank you all for your patience :)


	13. Chapter 13

Four hours into the drive, Bond quietly took over driving from Moneypenny after she assured him that she could handle a little more driving after dinner at a place Q had chosen. Bond waited to switch drivers until Q fell asleep, head resting against Bond’s jacket as an impromptu pillow. Moneypenny opted for the passenger seat, stifling a yawn as Bond followed the highway directions to the Chunnel, curling up on the seat before she turned to face him. “Do you think Patrice had any allies that could come after us to finish the job?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t know. There was a woman who followed us from Milan to Paris, but she seemed to have a passing interest in Patrice. Didn’t call anyone or report his death when it happened,” Bond replied, recalling the woman with the grey coat. Shaking his head, he said, “Anyway, I was thinking I’d take Q to headquarters tonight so O’Reilly can check him over, and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go beforehand. Unless you’d rather join us,” he asked, glancing over at her.

Moneypenny shrugged as she checked the backseat for a moment. “Are you planning to meet with M,” she said, finally moving back into an upright position and stretching. “She knows you’re coming back soon, she may not leave in order to pounce on Q as soon as she can.”

Bond hesitated, and then shook his head. “Not tonight, I’ll speak with her and mention that I may have the next step to Patrice’s employer,” Bond replied thinking of the gold casino chip he’d picked up off the floor in the conference room. “Hopefully it will distract her from Q until morning,” he added, checking the rearview mirror to see that Q still slept, body moving rhythmically enough to assure Bond that he was actually asleep and not feigning it again. “Did you ever have your earpiece during the confrontation that linked you to Major Boothroyd?” he asked, grimacing when he remembered that his was still in his duffel, which he’d left on the train in his rush after Q.

“Mine fell out when someone knocked into me on the train, and then someone else stepped on it. Since I know that Major Boothroyd is unavailable at the moment, I’m going to talk to Riley, he’s a lot more lenient than Major Boothroyd about missing equipment,” she said, grinning when Bond scowled. “Speaking of which…are you sure that Q really has the list anymore?” she asked, frowning as she snuck another glance to the backseat.

“Even if he doesn’t, he can tell M where he last had it,” Bond replied, his tone leaving no room for an argument he didn’t want to have.

Moneypenny didn’t reply, but then again, Bond could see the faint frown and tensed jaw out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back in her seat, head resting on the window. He didn’t ask her either about what story she planned to tell M; it was really none of his business and for once, he had nothing to hide from the mission itself. His secret, if he had one, was asleep in the backseat of the car that very moment, and he planned to help Q get at least a little bit of rest before facing the storm that was M. “I think, regardless of whether he has the list or not, M would at least listen to him, he didn’t want to sell the NATO agents out the wrong people,” he said finally, glancing over at Moneypenny again.

“You believe him?”

“He had every opportunity and reason to lie to me about who he was, what he did, and what he had in his possession. I just happened to have a means of verifying the information this time. He did what I did and omitted names in the interest of self-preservation and the protection of others,” he said, recalling their discussions in both Milan and Rome. “Espionage does extend into the field beyond MI6,” he said, glancing over at Moneypenny, who shrugged with one shoulder. “In the meantime, I would like you to complete one small favor for me,” he said as they entered the Chunnel.

“What are you planning, Bond?” she asked warily.

“Both Riley and Q know each other, and I’m wondering if they could perhaps backtrack the source of the cyber attack two weeks ago, if Q-Branch hasn’t figured it out already,” he said, glancing at Moneypenny in time to see the realization dawn over her. “As M should know by now, both Riley and Q had similar training in terms of programming and could help identify patterns we haven’t caught yet.”

“You want _me_ to bring it up to M.”

“Just at least mention the idea in passing, you don’t have to go in-depth if you don’t want to,” Bond suggested, turning his attention back to the dark road ahead. “I’m going to ask O’Reilly if Q can stay in Medical for the night, and then crash in the same room with him.”

Moneypenny nodded. “Riley was trying his best to keep track of you when you were traipsing around Italy, he was starting to get a little tetchy about the whole affair until you finally purchased two tickets to Paris,” she admitted, adjusting her jacket. “If he’s keeping track, then M will probably stay here until you call in saying that there’s a problem, which as we both know, there isn’t,” she said, eyes fluttering closed as she began to doze in her own seat.

Bond nodded in silent affirmation, staring ahead as the lights continued to pass them. _There’s no telling exactly how much time we really bought for the NATO agents. Especially if the man who paid Patrice tries again to steal it back._

His thoughts turned to Q, aware that he held Q’s only bargaining chip against M. Getting the memory stick that contained the criminals’ data to Q before M hunted him down would be difficult, especially if Bond honestly had no idea what Q did with the list of agents in between the flight on the train and the escape from the embassy— _shit_ , _there’s that other programmer in trouble_. _Damn._ M was going to shred him for that one, given that he wasn’t supposed to be remotely _near_ the embassy in the first place.

Evening rush traffic, once they arrived to London some time later, began to thin out when Bond finally turned onto the street where the entrance of the new underground MI6 lay hidden, carefully turning to the right as to not badly startle the two guards he could see on duty for the night. Slowing the vehicle down, he rolled down the window and held out his security ID for the guards to see, Moneypenny blinking when they shined a light into the passenger seat.

“Double-oh seven, Miss Moneypenny,” the guard greeted, frowning when he shined the light into the backseat. “Is he—?”

“Check your roster,” Bond said, glancing at him. “He’s a guest of M’s, we were only sent to retrieve him,” he said, leaning back in the seat as he watched the guard. Keeping his other hand out of sight, he rested the palm on the handgrip of the Walther, just in case it came down to a fight to keep Q in his possession.

“Right, no here he is… Winfield, correct? Alexander Winfield?” the guard asked, looking up from his tablet to Bond, who nodded. “Very well, as you were then.”

“Thank you,” Bond said before driving slowly down into the underground warren of tunnels, following Moneypenny’s quiet directions to a parking slot near the familiar doors that Tanner had brought to him about a week ago— _Christ, has it really only been a little over one full week since coming back from Istanbul?_ Shaking his head, he glanced at Moneypenny and said, “Welcome home, I suppose.”

“Hah, you won’t be thanking me yet. I get to see M first, remember?” Moneypenny said, grinning broadly as Bond flipped her off. “And I might get you to fill out an evaluation, since I know how much you _love_ paperwork—” she stopped when they both heard a muffled groan in the backseat, and Bond turned to find Q curling in on himself slightly, fingers weakly fluttering near the safety belt buckle as he tried to press the button. “Are you all right, Q?” Moneypenny asked as Bond felt a tendril of ice curling in his gut—he hadn’t checked Q over for any injuries, Q hadn’t said he’d been hurt—and hours had passed since the confrontation with Patrice. If he had been shot, and the adrenaline had kept the pain at bay for several hours until he fell asleep…“Q?”

“Q, damn it,” Bond muttered, turning the car off before getting out of the vehicle and heading to the passenger side that was opposite side of where Q actually sat. Opening the door, he leaned in right as Q gripped the seat with white knuckles, trying to force himself to sit up. “Q, Q, listen to me, are you all right?” Bond asked, reaching over and gently placing two fingers underneath Q’s chin and encouraged him to look up, feeling the steady pulse underneath his fingertips. Q’s pupils seemed all right, both responding to the shift in light as Q blinked and realized that he was in relative darkness except for the white-blue fluorescent light right outside the car in the tunnel. “Q, talk to me,” Bond said, putting an edge into his voice and successfully recaptured Q’s attention. _“What is going on?”_

“Sorry, I…I just don’t feel well right now,” Q whispered, curling slightly despite the safety belt as his hands fluttered over his stomach. He twisted slightly to look up at Bond, pain and guilt visible in his eyes. “I—”

“Q, were you shot?” Bond asked quietly, blue eyes still roaming over what he could see of Q’s clothes, searching for a trace of blood.

Q mutely shook his head, but managed to reach over and unclasp the safety belt to better curl up in the seat. Bond watched a flash of pain cross his face, and then began to reach for Q even as the programmer twisted to grasp his arms, the agent carefully pulling him towards the door and allowing him to slowly spill out of the car and into a bridal carry, Bond shifting his grip to better support Q’s head against his forearm. “Moneypenny, get O’Reilly,” he said without looking up, listening to her footsteps retreat towards the main entrance. “A doctor is on his way to look you over,” he whispered, trying to keep the fear out of his voice _—how many is that now?_ —as he approached the front doors, Q resting his hands on his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut. Tanner, who held the doors open, stared at the two of them as Bond adjusted his grip to make it easier on the two of them.

“Is he…?” Tanner stopped speaking when Q convulsed slightly as though fighting back the urge to be sick, nearly upsetting Bond’s grip. “Oh God, O’Reilly suspected you might be back or need emergency medical treatment since you were near the end of a mission, so he stayed on duty tonight,” Tanner explained as he stepped aside to let Bond into the facility. “Where was he shot?”

Q groaned. “James…”

“What, what is it?” Bond said, frowning slightly when Q opened an eye at him, balefully staring at the agent.

“I’m _—umph_ — _fine_ , I’m fucking fine,” he growled, face reddening slightly as the three of them heard approaching footsteps. Bond looked up to see Ellen with a small team of medics approaching, her mouth set in a straight line as she approached the three of them. “James,” Q began again after another convulsion. “James, I’m fine. It’s, erm, it’s the data, that list of yours,” he tried to whisper as Ellen gestured sharply for the medics to lay down a white stretcher on the ground.

Bond paused, momentarily confused as he furrowed his brows at Q. “You mean you’re sick because of the list?” he said, frowning as Ellen cleared her throat for his attention. “What?” he snapped, the nurse scowling at him in reproach.

“Put him on the stretcher, O’Reilly is waiting and we may not have much time,” she ordered, stepping back to give him room.

“ _James!”_ Q snapped, startling both Bond and Ellen. He scowled, grimaced, and said in a raspy voice, “I, uh, swallowed it. The hard drive, it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t think of a better hiding place for it at the time and I was panicking, so I swallowed it when trying to find the fastest way to get off the train in Paris,” he admitted in a softer voice as Bond set him down on the stretcher. “That way, I could keep it, but not have to worry about someone stealing it away from me,” he said, eyes flickering to the medics surrounding him. “Who the hell are you?” he blurted out, narrowing his eyes as Ellen moved to take his glasses.

“The people who are going to x-ray you so that the doctor can perform surgery to remove the hard drive before you start having intestinal problems,” Ellen countered, not even paying attention as she finished strapping him down to the stretcher. Signaling to another nurse, she began to walk back towards Medical, the few staff with the stretcher following close behind. Bond started to follow as well, spotting Q’s panicked expression, but Tanner stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.

“M wants to talk to you, preferably while you’re still in reach,” Tanner said, grimacing when Bond glared at him. “Don’t shoot the messenger, double-oh seven, even if you do have a few bullets left,” he said, eyes flickering to where the Walther remained in its shoulder holster.

“Then don’t tempt me,” Bond said before moving around Tanner. _The sooner I deal with M, the sooner I get back to Q._ ” Where is she?”

“Her office, she’s somewhat in a better mood so I can only hope you have good news for her,” Tanner said, glancing after the team that took Q away. He sighed, and then said, “Well, shall we?”

Bond made a face but obediently followed.

M was still sitting in her office, the same one that overlooked the mostly empty Q-Branch. Bond followed Tanner through the maze of desks, careful to not bother any of the skeleton crew as they snuck glances at the agent; it was rare that Bond returned on time without dawdling at the latest destination. Bond only noticed Riley a few minutes later since the tech was asleep at his desk using the keyboard as a makeshift pillow; Bond wondered Riley could mind Q until after Bond spoke to M, but Tanner ushered him up the rest of the way before he could head back down the stairs. Mallory, Bond noticed, was mercifully absent, M sitting at her desk reading a marked summons from the Ministry of Defence as she gestured for Bond and Tanner to sit down, only the former obeying the request.

She only looked up once Bond had settled in his seat, lowering the paper the rest of the way. “Where is the list of NATO agents?” she asked quietly as Tanner closed her office doors before moving to stand in his customary spot behind her.

“I believe O’Reilly will have it surgically removed from its hiding place soon enough,” Bond said calmly, meeting her in the eye. “Q swallowed the hard drive to keep Patrice and I from stealing it, he did admit that it was difficult and I suspect it’s now lodged somewhere in his gut,” he explained with a straight face, M’s mouth thinning into a straight line. “In the meantime, I found this in Patrice’s possession, and I think that the same man who gave it to him as payment for the list,” he said, passing over the gold casino chip. The gold letters M A C A U gleamed at him as M picked the chip up and studied it closely.

“Once we verify that we do have the list, then we will decide what to do with the man who wanted it,” M said setting the chip down so Bond could see the words _Golden Dragon Casino_ along the edge, and she passed it to Tanner, who tucked it away. “The boy will have to face charges of treason against the Crown for collaborating with terrorists with the intention of doing harm,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “If he does in fact have the list, I will shorten his prison sentence. If not, then he will be in for life.”

“He held onto the list in the interest of protecting lives, those from collateral damage should he have handed it over to us prematurely, or those of the agents themselves if he had handed the data to Patrice,” Bond said, frowning. “Not to mention that he’s returning the list. If it checks out, he hasn’t committed treason.”

“What of previous acts against the Crown? We know nothing yet about what he’s done in the past, unless there’s something you would like to tell me about before handing it over for analysis?” she said, eyes narrowing as she waited patiently for him to reply.

 _She knows_. Bond recalled the memory stick, of Q’s records of criminals he’d handed over to numerous intelligence agencies around the world, including MI6. _They wouldn’t have let him remain anonymous, they would have had to verify the information,_ he realized, squaring his shoulders as he faced M. “Are you referring to the something that you already know about?” he asked, the pieces falling into place. “Anonymity has no place here, Major Boothroyd would have backtracked the trail as part of the vetting process for any freely-offered tips, and that would have led him back to Alexander Winfield’s flat in Paris,” he said, leaning forward as M stiffened in her chair. “Which means that in your process of looking him up, you would have found his records in MI5, along with members of his family. Fournier told me that he had spoken only to the police and Centrale Directorate of Intelligence, not MI6. Which contradicts what you told me before I left.” Bond smirked before he said, “And you can’t _stand_ the thought of MI5 Director Farrows having something that you don’t.”

M narrowed her eyes at him. “Unless you’re planning to finish that speech with an accusation, double-oh seven, I suggest you stop right now before I decide that you should share Winfield’s sentence, for crashing through an embassy and arresting an employee who damaged your pride,” she warned, anger flickering in her eyes before she resumed her poker face. “I will reconsider Winfield’s fate, but I would not push what little of my luck I had left, double-oh seven, if I were you,” she added, abruptly standing as she placed her hands on top of the desk.

“Prosecute him as an informant, if you must, but not as a criminal,” Bond said, standing up to match her; he towered over her in height, but her glare more than made up fro the difference. “He did not know the difference, I have audio proof to back up my claims and I’m sure that Riley can find the footage of his confession in Milan,” he said, pulling his mobile out and offering it to M.

M silently regarded him for a moment, and then she said, “You’ve come a long way from distrusting strangers, especially after Vesper Lynd showed you the damage that can be done with a pretty face,” as she took a step back, lips thinning into a straight line.

“Vesper is the one who taught me not to trust that pretty face at first glance,” Bond countered, holding his ground.

For a moment, M didn’t speak. Then she nodded. “I’ll take your and Miss Moneypenny’s words under advisement, and then I will speak with Q tomorrow morning once he is awake so he cannot duck out of it like certain bloody agents that I have the misfortune of dealing with,” she said grimly before gathering her coat. “Now good night, double-oh seven, and get the hell out of my office.”

Bond fought back a grin. “Of course, mum,” he said before walking around her and out of the office, heading straight to Medical.


	14. Chapter 14

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Q squeezed his eyes together as consciousness slowly returned to his muddled brain, silently vowing never to swallow another inedible object again unless his life depended on it— _although that’s still what got me into this fucking situation_. Aside from soreness in his midsection and a cottony feeling in his mouth, throat, and head, he felt fine, which he took to be an okay sign, given that he now had to face his last nightmare in the form of the woman that James seemed to alternately dislike and hold in high regard.

 _James_.

He nearly coughed, but managed to force his eyes open into a white world with few brushes of color as he tried to examine his hospital room without moving his head. “James?” he croaked, brows scrunching together when he saw no sign of the agent. “James?” he repeated, trying to keep the terror out of his voice even as he heard the heart monitor steadily increasing in beeps. His hands only twitched in his efforts to move them, and he flinched when a dark blob suddenly moved into his field of vision, hovering near the armrest before resting a familiarly scarred hand against his own, careful not to budge the drip. “James…” he began uncertainly.

“Right here, relax, you’re safe now,” the blob said in a familiar voice, a chair scraping along the floor as James brought it closer to the bed. He left his hand on Q’s wrist as he adjusted his position, but then said, “The nurses took your glasses away to discourage you from leaving before Doctor O’Reilly has a chance to examine and clear you, I’m afraid that they’re conditioned to anticipating patients attempting to leave early.”

“Would you have anything to do with that?” Q asked, starting to grin only to grimace at a sharp pain in his stomach.

“Perhaps. I don’t usually appreciate being poked and prodded if I’m already in some form of pain, it’s easier to leave and deal with it on my own,” James said, his voice slightly farther away as the chair squeaked against the floor. “The surgery itself was quick and simple, O’Reilly appreciates that you were very compliant with him right before you went under,” he said even as the memories of the night before, right as O’Reilly leaned over with the anesthesia, began creeping back into Q’s mind. _No wonder I feel lethargic right now._

Q hesitated, and then asked, “And the drive?”

“Cleaned and in Q Branch for verification, Riley wanted me to tell you that he’ll be in later to visit and catch up, he appreciates the encryption levels that you added to protect the information,” James said, still in the peripheral of Q’s vision. Q tried to turn his head to face James, but stopped when he felt his head swim. The blob shifted, and then James asked quietly, “Do you want me to prop you up?”

“Slowly, please. And then I want you to move closer to the foot of the bed, I can’t really see you,” Q replied softly as he gripped the handrails. He heard a faint _whirr_ as the bed moved into the upright position, gesturing sharply for James to stop when he felt the strain on his stomach. He hesitated, and then asked, “Am I to be arrested now?” while trying to not let James hear the crack in his voice.

“I’ve convinced M to let you present your case before passing judgment, she’ll be here after a nurse checks you over and deems you fit to receive visitors,” James said, and Q could hear the disapproval or discontent in James’s voice, the agent squeezing his fingers when they both heard a quick _knock-knock_ on the door. “Come in,” James said, remaining absolutely still in place as though tensed to stand up or challenge the visitor.

Q couldn’t see who entered, just saw a rectangle of light with a figure silhouetted in the middle before he heard brisk footsteps, James’s grip on his fingers relaxing moment later. “Ah, Ellen, you look lovely this morning,” James remarked, letting go of Q’s hand to stand up and let her through to Q’s bedside.

“Just checking on the patient, double-oh seven, so don’t think about it,” a crisp, female voice as she leaned over Q, who forced himself to remain calm despite the lack of physical contact with a stranger in the room. “How do you feel, Mr. Winfield?” it— _Ellen_ , Q corrected himself—asked in a softer voice, leaning over Q slightly.

He hesitated, and then asked, “Where are my glasses?”

“M confiscated them from O’Reilly after the procedure,” Ellen replied softly, resting a hand on his shoulder as she checked his charts. “She refused to hand them back until once she’s had a chance to speak with you, she was forewarned to your tricks after Riley found a security tape from Euro Railways where you handcuffed double-oh seven to the bedside table,” she said, laughing softly when Q groaned; he hadn’t realized that there were security cameras onboard the train. “Apparently, the mission has revised a few betting pools regarding double-oh seven in several departments,” she said, earning a soft curse from James. A moment of silence, and then, “How do you feel, Mr. Winfield?” she quietly repeated.

Sick. Anxious. Terrified. “Fine,” he said aloud, resolutely not looking at the nurse. “Fine enough to see M now,” he clarified a moment later, tilting his head towards the slimmer figure that he assumed was the nurse.

“Are you near or far-sighted?” Ellen asked, her pen scratching on what Q assumed was a clipboard.

 _Does it matter?_ “Near,” he replied, voice mechanical to his own ears. He saw James’s figure attempt to move closer to the bed, but stopped when Ellen shifted her own position as though leaning on a foot. He flexed a hand without thinking, trying to quell the abrupt surge of panic in his gut at the cold empty air in his palm.

“Any allergies aside from the ones you mentioned last night just before O’Reilly put you under?” she asked, shoes scraping across the floor as she checked another monitor behind Q’s bed.

“Shellfish.” Q nearly jumped, but relaxed almost immediately when he felt James’s hand return to his own, the reassuring grip letting him know that he wasn’t entirely defenseless at the moment. _He said he would protect me, please hold to that, James, don’t leave me now_. He hesitated, and then tilted his head towards Ellen, who paused in her writing. “What will happen to me? When M gets here?” he asked, looking first at her, and then at James, who shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know. If you had asked me last night, I would have guessed that you would face charges for treason against the Crown, but I heard this morning through the rumor mill that a guardian angel interceded on your behalf, so there’s no telling what M might do,” Ellen said without mincing words, much to Q’s relief. She hesitated, and then asked, “Are you absolutely sure you want to see her?”

“Yes, please.” Q tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, the desperation to get his glasses back, but he evidently failed; James snorted softly beside him, and he resisted the urge to smack the agent. _Maybe I will once I can actually see him._

Ellen either missed it or ignored it. “Well, in that case, it will at least make M’s visit that much easier,” she said, clipping the pen to the clipboard with an audible _snap_. “Double-oh seven, M made it clear that she doesn’t want to see you yet, something about unusual abrasiveness in her office last night. Her words, not mine,” she said as her footsteps retreated from the bedside towards the door.

“M just hates that I got the upper hand, and she knows it,” James said to Ellen’s retreating back, his figure adjusting back to face Q once Ellen closed the door with a _snap._ He then leaned forward, his features sharpening as he got closer until they were nearly touching foreheads. “She won’t let me stay, or Riley for that matter, because she doesn’t want us to influence your responses,” James quietly said, blue eyes never leaving Q’s. Q nodded as James leaned back to fiddle with his jacket, watching carefully as James withdrew a small rectangular object from his jacket. “Listen. When I was initially sent after you, I searched your flat because I needed to know what I was dealing with,” he said quietly, ignoring Q stiffening with indignation at the house invasion— _how the hell had I missed that? Did he come after I left?_ Careful to remain in Q’s line of sight, he leaned down and clasped a familiar object into Q’s hand.

Q turned pink, turning the memory stick over in his hand. “I hate to think that you went through my dirty laundry to get this,” he said, scowling at James, who shrugged a shoulder.

“I used my foot first. Out of curiosity, what _exactly_ were you making that list for?” James asked, sitting back down in his chair.

 _Shit_. “Erm…well, Six wasn’t exactly doing a great job of locating their targets, especially after Quantum went underground,” he said, not missing the way James tilted his head at the name. “Although, to be fair, a lot of intelligence organizations are having trouble. So I helped Uncle César prosecute the remaining Quantum leaders, and they provided information that led me to the others. That information I handed off to organizations looking for them. I cultivated a relationship with others, presented myself as harmless so that they would come to me and hopefully be safely imprisoned once I sold them out.” Q scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably before he said, “You…I would have handed you off to the French courts, I didn’t want MI6’s attention on me, if I’d had a chance to get that far before I found out who you really were.”

He felt rather than saw James laugh, his shoulder bumping gently against Q’s. “M would have left me in French custody, saying that it would serve me right for letting you get the better of me,” James said, leaning against the bed railing.

“Like on the train to Paris?” Q asked, grinning despite himself.

James sighed. “Just like on the train to Paris,” he confirmed, leaning with a hand resting on Q’s blanketed lap. “I was rather hoping to keep that one a secret from—”

“Me?” a cold voice finished from the hospital room entrance.

James flinched as though burned, standing up as Q retracted his hand underneath the blankets, brining the memory stick to rest on his lap. He remained still as three figures entered the room, one detaching from the other two almost immediately to pull up another chair for one of the figures. Q realized that the now-seated figure had to be M; James remained in place, but even Q could see the tensed muscles in the agent’s frame. James confirmed his suspicions a moment later when he said, “M, Tanner, long time no see—”

“Double-oh seven, please leave immediately,” M said briskly as the figure behind her—Tanner, Q guessed, given that the third figure was now fussing with Q’s saline bags—set a gray, oblong object on the foot of Q’s bed.

“Give Q his glasses back first,” James countered quietly, pointedly sitting down again when both M and Tanner didn’t comply right away.

M didn’t reply for a moment, but she did push the oblong object closer to Q. “Leave, double-oh seven. You’ll be permitted to return on the condition that Q complies with answering my questions without resistance,” M said coldly as Q rested the memory stick on his stomach before gingerly reaching for the oblong shape, still half-expecting M to take it back. James leaned forward to nudge it closer to Q before squeezing his hand briefly and standing up again. “Any fuss from _you_ , Q, and I’ll ensure that you will not see double-oh seven for at least six months, not to mention the light of day,” she said, Q’s hand freezing on top of the glasses case. “Do you understand?”

For a moment, Q almost replied in the affirmative. Then he pushed the case back to M. “If you think I’m going to answer anything without Ja—double oh seven present, then I’m sad to inform you that you are grievously mistaken. I’m not stupid to do anything without a witness present, and since I know you will deny me a family member, I insist that James stays. Even if I have to be blind for the questioning,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite the heavy silence from M that he could _hear_ swallowing up the room.

The man behind Q coughed as he checked another monitor, and M remained stiff as James cleared his throat. “Well, there you have it, ma’am,” he said, casually sitting back down.

“Keep the glasses,” M snapped, and Q snatched them back before she could change her mind. He fumbled with the glasses at first, and then slipped them on when the anonymous figure—a doctor?—quietly excused himself from the room and left, carefully closing the door behind him. Q slowly exhaled, allowing his eyes to adjust before he looked up at M for the first time.

At first glance, she struck him as completely ordinary; he wouldn’t have looked at her twice if they had passed each other in the street. He’d never hacked the MI6 records for a visual of the director, but he still remembered Silva’s spine-chilling descriptions of the woman, in the dark eves of the abandoned buildings on Silva’s private island off the coast of Macau. Silva had tried to instill a sense of caution in their small group, but evidently failed since Q started doing business with MI6 not long after the short trip. He squirmed under the hawk-like gaze, suddenly looking down at his lap. “You make quite the impression, ma’am,” he admitted, finally mustering the courage to look up at her.

She narrowed her eyes. “I am quite confident that flattery will not endear you to me,” she said, glancing once at James with a scowl as Tanner pulled out a tablet and handed it to her. “Q-Branch has finished running the analysis on the returned list. It appears that although there were four different hacking attempts, you were the only one to decrypt, and then encrypt it again,” she said, watching him carefully. “Who were the other three?”

“Hackers that Patrice tried to employ before coming to me, he was going behind his employer’s back to assess the value of the data so he could charge a higher price,” Q said, meeting M’s eyes. “All I saw were names, I didn’t have the time to decrypt the rest since double-oh seven was very persistent in keeping up with me.”

“Yes, double-oh seven seems to be unusually fond of you. Which is extremely troubling on its own,” M said, ignoring James’s scowl. She leaned forward, and asked, “Did you know Patrice well? When did you two first meet?”

Q didn’t answer right away, aware that James was most likely as curious. Without looking at James, terrified of what he might see if James took the next part in the wrong light, he said, “I first met Patrice in Macau, when I was working on a group project with five other people, all computer experts. Patrice is— _was_ a mercenary who visited us frequently, he was under the employ of the group organizer, Raoul Silva,” he said, not missing the minute frown on M’s face. He hesitated, and then said, “In Paris, when Patrice held the civilians hostage, I saw that someone was remotely helping him to decode the data, apparently the employer was frustrated with Patrice’s constant attempts to get the data, I gave or let him steal the wrong information each time he tried to get it.” He glanced uneasily at James and said, “Silva has a permanent associate, a woman named Sévérine. She was the woman in Milan, before we got on the train,” he said, James nodding in recognition.

“And I saw her again in Paris, after Patrice fell out of the window,” James said, turning to M as his hand snaked underneath the hospital bed blanket and clasped Q’s. “It could be Silva behind the attempts on the list, even the explosion at the old headquarters if he already has experience working remotely,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing when M remained silent for a few more seconds.

“He _does_ know you, ma’am, and I don’t think he’s trying to arrange a social visit,” Q said uneasily, jumping when M abruptly stood up.

“In which case, double-oh seven, I am giving you orders to assassinate Silva, before he strikes again,” she said firmly before turning to Q.  “You, however, will be spared for now until the courts decide what to do with you, and remain in the detention center under heavy guard until then. I will send Major Boothroyd to collect any pertinent details that double-oh seven needs to know as well,” she said before nodding once to James. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said before turning to leave the room.

“Wait,” Q said, leaning forward as James glanced at him. “Can I have a chance to negotiate for my freedom?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even as M turned to face him, eyes narrowing in anger.

“What do you possibly have that I could be interested in?” she asked, glancing suspiciously at James before turning her gaze back to Q.

“Data. You weren’t the only organization I did business with, and I did cross paths with many criminals that still roam free,” Q said, casually leaning against the pillows. “I have the list with me, right now, and I’ll give it to you in exchange for my freedom,” he said, careful to keep his voice even.

“I cannot let you roam around free, especially if Silva is still alive. I can give you a more lenient prison sentence,” M said, ignoring James’s scowl.

“My freedom or nothing at all,” Q said firmly, emboldened by James’s presence beside him.

“Two years probation followed by employment, or a lenient prison sentence. Refuse or try to negotiate for more, and we’re back to the original sentence for treason as a final decision,” M said, never looking away even as James frowned.

Q stared at her, momentarily caught off guard by the employment offer. He remained silent for a few minutes, careful not to turn away from M— _you don’t turn your back to a predator_. He could only see one option that ended with a guarantee that he would be alive and well at the end, even if one of the conditions left him feeling slightly ill. “I’ll take the two-year probation and eventual employment,” he said, tightening his fingers around James’s for some measure of comfort.

M nodded. “The data, if you don’t mind,” she said, extending a hand.

Q reluctantly freed his hand to reach for the memory stick on his lap, handing one of his few lifelines over to the director, who handed it to Tanner before gesturing that he follow her out of the room.

James waited until she was gone before leaning forward and taking Q’s hand in his own. “Impress her, and she will shorten the probation sentence,” he said quietly as Q turned to face him. “She might put you in Q-Branch with Riley as a programmer, so it’s not like you’re starting out without allies,” he said, looking up at Q. “And you have me, so you won’t receive _too_ much trouble from other employees.”

“I keep getting the feeling you’re something of a royal terror here,” Q said quietly, feeling a burst of affection and sadness for the agent, folding the scarred hand in his own. “I wish you didn’t have to go, though,” he admitted quietly after a moment, looking up at the startling blue eyes. “Silva, he has this uncanny ability to predict people’s actions before they do, and he plans his own responses to what he anticipates. James, I fucked up whatever plans he had in mind for the list, he probably knows by now that I was involved and will arrange to have me killed so I can’t interfere anymore,” he whispered, hands tightening on James’s as the agent leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Worse yet, he’ll try to kill you too.”

“Many have tried, none have succeeded,” James said, squeezing Q’s hands with his own before gently tugging free, standing up and stretching his spine. “I’ll go find Boothroyd, and we can discuss the possibility of keeping this mission out of the digital records until Silva is dead.” He turned to leave, but leaned on the bedrail once more. “And I’ll be back before you know it, routine assassinations tend to finish quickly,” he said before leaving again.

Q nodded uneasily, watching in silence as James finally reached the door. “James?” he suddenly asked, attempting to sit up straighter in his seat, but stopped when he felt the stitches pull again.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” _For saving me from M, for catching me when I tripped and fell, for giving me a chance._ “For everything. Thank you for everything,” Q clarified, smiling softly as he rested his hands on the white blankets.

The agent seemed surprised for a split second, but smoothed it over with a nod. “Of course, you’re welcome,” he said, looking faintly amused. “I’ll be right back.”

Q nodded, leaning back in his bed and closing his eyes, letting the steady beeps from numerous monitors lull him back to what he hoped was a brief rest before James returned with Major Boothroyd. He suspected that the whole trip from Italy to England had only revealed the cracks in James’s façade, a splintered illusion that gave him enough information to know that he could trust what he saw through those cracks, that it was safe to continue trusting him.

_I’ve forgotten what peace feels like. Thank you James._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes _Splintered Illusions._
> 
> Thank you all very much for the bookmarks/comments/kudos and for your patience. The artwork was done by the fantastic bjodoodles, and it was an honor to work with her.
> 
> Mistflyer

**Author's Note:**

> First, I would like to say thank you to the fantastic bjodoodles for the lovely artworks that inspired the overall fic :) You can get in touch with her at bjodoodles.tumblr.com.
> 
> I also want to give a shout out to fyrepen33, for all the support/shoulders/feedback she's given me throughout this project.
> 
> The source text of the Apollo and Daphne myth used for this story can be found here:  
> http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/Metamorph.htm#anchor_Toc64105469 (Bk. I: 438-567)


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